


Desolation

by Ambirdy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Character Death, Dark, F/M, Female Reader, Friendship, Graphic Description, I Tried, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Precious Peter Parker, Reader-Insert, Zombies, badassness, maybe scary?, sweet baby child peter parker, young peter parker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambirdy/pseuds/Ambirdy
Summary: This was the start of the end of the world for you. These were your first moments in Death’s domain. This was when you become someone entirely new. Someone cold, ruthless, and strong; a survivor. Someone built for Hell.





	1. The Beginning of The End

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, readers, let me know what you think! Also, ATC stands for air traffic control for those who don't know and I recommend listening to some playlist on 8tracks like this one: http://8tracks.com/marvelbae/bitten-infected or perhaps this one: http://8tracks.com/kingmogar/outbreak or whichever you would like to listen too if you want to listen to anything lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy! :)

Your flight from New York City had just landed in Washington, D.C. when it started. You were supposed to head over to Union Station to get a train home and your mother was supposed to pick you up when you arrived back in your hometown. That didn’t happen. You didn’t get to spend Thanksgiving with your family. You never got to Union Station. You barely even made it out of the airport.

You sensed the terror and chaos before you even landed. You sat in the first row closest to the door and the cockpit. You had been asleep for the majority of the flight but turbulence woke you up--or perhaps it was the overwhelming fear emanating from the flight attendants as they scurried through the aisles and in and out of the cockpit with politely forced smiles that didn’t reach their eyes in the slightest. You watched as one of the flight attendants, the perkiest of them all, came out of the cockpit with no color in her face and her eyes drowned in disbelieving fear.

“What’s happening? Why can’t we land?” The male flight attendant with bright green eyes asked her quietly. It took her a moment for her eyes to meet his. She looked like she had seen death.

“They told us not to land.” Her voice, quiet and just barely a whisper, shook.

“Who? Why?” The male flight attendant gingerly grabbed her shoulders to get her attention. She kept staring off into the distance, zoning out in her thoughts.

“ATC,” she whispered, finally looking at him, eyes still wide. “It’s chaos down there. They’re killing each other.”

“What?” Green, the male flight attendant, glanced at the passengers and you looked away as his eyes passed over you. “Who’s killing who?” He stood in front of her, shielding her from any onlookers. It took her a moment to answer and you almost didn’t hear it.

“Everyone.”

Green went into the cockpit, then, to confirm what she was saying and, while he was in there, a murmur of confusion spread throughout the airplane. People began to slide open closed window covers and whispers of fear arose. Phones were taken out to be searched and the sound of panic began to grow. It wasn’t until Green returned looking the same as his co-worker, that the real panic set in. A loud shout pierced the through the noisy sounds of the airplane from a few rows back.

“Oh, my God! They’re eating each other! People are _eating_ other _people_ down there!”

“Look out the window!” someone else yelled.

Everyone did as the stranger suggested. You, having the window seat, slid open the shutter and peered out. At first, you saw clouds, dark bluish clouds, and then they disappeared as the plane flew past them. All at once, as D.C. came into view, the entire plane went silent--or perhaps you went deaf for a few moments from the shock. You were low enough to the ground to see that the city was in utter chaos. Burning buildings with pillars of black smoke, red and blue lights running through the streets in every direction, cars crashing into other cars and buildings and hydrants and streetlights; people looked like ants as they scurried through the streets and alleys.

“It’s the end of the world.” You turned back to Perky, the flight attendant, and saw her sitting on the floor, large tears silently falling from her wide eyes. With her knees pulled up to her chest (which you thought impossible to do in such a tight skirt) and hands in her hair cradling her head, she began to rock back and forth repeating the words over and over again. You pulled out your phone with a racing heart and checked the news.

 

**_THE APOCALYPSE IS NOW_ **

**_ZOMBIES ARE REAL AND THEY ARE HERE_ **

**_WORLDWIDE EPIDEMIC_ **

**_STAY INDOORS. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE._ **

**_REPENT WHILE YOU STILL CAN_ **

 

These were the news titles you saw. Fear overwhelmed you as you looked out the window again. An explosion sent red flames bursting into the air and the rising heat rocked the plane. You slammed the shutter closed and gulped. Your heart beat so fast you felt it was crossing dimensions with its speed. You were losing breath quickly as you began to hyperventilate. You were in a plane with nowhere to land and the world was ending in a _zombie apocalypse_ right below you. Your (eye color) eyes began to water as you shuddered and attempted to suppress a whimper.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?”

You turned to look at the middle aged woman to your right. Her eyes were shut and her hands clung to the charm of her necklace. You assumed it was a Crucifix from her words. Sweat started to form on her brow.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to try and land. Please buckle up.” Panicked screams and shouts erupted from the passengers. You gripped the arms of your chair until your knuckles were white and you weren’t sure if blood was still pumping in your hands. Your stomach knotted and flipped as you felt the plane begin to descend. You didn’t want to land. If the city looked like that, you knew the airport was no better--and probably worse.

 **“** The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?”

Perhaps it was just you, but you felt like the plane was falling from the sky uncontrollably. You felt like you were diving to crash on the ground in flames. The plane shook again whether it be from turbulence from the descent, the vocalized fear of your fellow passengers, or from explosions and screams on the ground, you didn’t know.

“When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh.”

 _Devour my flesh._ That’s exactly what was going to happen when you landed. They were going to eat you alive, tear you limb from limb, gnaw the flesh from your bones. You were crying and near begging for God to save you like the woman next to you was.

“When my enemies and my foes attack me.”

The plane was nearing the runway. At this point, you didn’t care which god saved you, so long as they did.

“They will stumble and fall.”

The wheels opened up and prepared to soften the landing.

“Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear.”

You bounced slightly in your seat as the plane finally touched the ground. You held your breath.

“Though war break out against me, even then will I be confident.”

 

* * *

 

 

After the landing, the pilots came out of the cockpit and, with solemnly terrified looks on their faces, told everyone to gather their things or whatever they needed because they were opening the doors and they were just going to have to make a run for it. Sounds of distressed disagreement erupted from the passengers and for nearly fifteen minutes everyone debated on whether or not to go out there 

“We’ll die if we do!”

“And we’ll starve to death in here if we don’t!”

And so it was decided; everyone would venture into pandemonium and attempt to survive. It took all but ten minutes for everyone to gather their things and prepare for impending death. The pilot had everyone line up as orderly as possible. Sitting in the first row, you were the third person to go, the co-pilot and pilot leading the way. All you had was your small, carry-on duffel bag slung over your shoulder and your racing heart. Perky still sat on the floor in front of your seat, shaking and silent, her hands buried in her hair and her face hidden. Green kneeled beside her, wrapping his arms around her.

“Georgiana,” he whispered in her ear, “We’re leaving. We have to go.” He gently shook her shoulders and pulled her hair from her face. Her eyes were closed and her face was caked in tears and snot. “Georgiana, please.” She shook her head. “Please!” Again, the same response. “We can’t stay here.”

“I’m not going out there.” Her tear-stained voice was barely audible.

“Honey, we have to.” She shook her head again. “Georgie...please..”

“We have to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Help.”

You wanted to believe help was coming but something inside you, something about the destruction of D.C., something about the silence of the airport told you that there was no hope for help.

“You guys ready?” the pilot asked quietly. No one answered.

“Kyle, Georgie, c’mon,” the co-pilot urged. “Get your stuff. We’re leaving.” Green gazed uncertainly at the co-pilot and then glanced back at Perky. The moment his eyes fell on her, something changed behind his eyes, they steadied and steeled, determined and decided. Shaking his head, he turned back to the co-pilot.

“No, we’re staying. We’re going to wait for help.”

The pilot said nothing, but the way Green had said it, he knew there was no convincing them to come. And thus, the door was opened and you all entered into Hell. There was no walkway to the door to the inside of the building, so the flight had to walk on the runway to get inside. When you were inside, you suddenly wished you never left the plane. The entire place was destroyed and there was enough blood you felt you could practically swim through it. There were arms and legs and bones and guts strewn all about. Shredded clothes, broken furniture, ruined luggage, and all around disaster littering the area. Several people gagged, someone vomited, whimpers had to be hushed, and you felt incredibly dizzy and on the verge of fainting.

Everyone huddled along, following the pilot, trying to keep quiet and avoid the blood and guts. You noticed a broken metal arm of a chair, the torn end dangerously sharp, and you were tempted to pick it up. Suddenly, the pilot stopped, raising his hand, and everyone followed suit, terrified.

“Did you hear that?” he asked. You took a moment to listen and you heard a crying come from just down the terminal. You heart in your throat and tears stinging your eyes, a little girl hobbled out from around the corner, whimpering pitifully. Her purple sundress was drenched in blood and, in her arms, she cradled a crimson-stained, white stuffed bunny. Blonde hair fell to just above her small shoulders and she looked no older than six. The pilot stepped forward.

“Hey,” he called out, “Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

This was the mistake that set loose Hell in all its unholy terror on you. This was when you realized that it was truly the end of the world.

The little girl turned slowly to acknowledge his voice and, as she did, you heard a scuffling from the hall she came from. Facing you, you realized she was not a little girl anymore. She was a monster with half her face chewed off and the flesh nearly completely gnawed off her left forearm. A gasp echoed out from the passengers and the pilot pulled away. The little monster stalked forward, dropping the bunny from her arms, and everyone lurched back. The pilot remained in one place, shocked, before he realized the little monster was picking up speed and his life was now on the line. He stepped back into a large puddle of blood and slipped, falling into the puddle, splashing blood on your pants. The pilot was defenseless and couldn’t move as he watched the little monster run at him.

Heart pounding, head throbbing, adrenaline pumping, you grabbed the metal rod from the ground and swung as hard as you could at the little monster who leaped at the pilot. The monster flew back at the force and landed on the ground with a crack of her bones. With your eyes wide and your stomach churning, you struggled to catch your breath. The co-pilot helped the pilot up from the floor and, as he did, the little monster started to move again. Startled yelps echoed from the passengers behind you and you lifted the rod only to bring it down on the monster’s face in panic. The impact left a large dent in its face but the monster still attempted to get up. So with as much power as you could muster in your horrified state, you brought the rod down again and once more, its blood splattering up on the rod and the floor and you. You kept hitting until the face was nothing but mush and broken bits of bones, until it was no longer recognizable as a face, until your shoulders were heaving with your rapid breathing. You scarcely heard the gagging and crying of your fellow passengers.

Suddenly, another scuffling was heard to your left from the hallway the little monster came from and, when you looked up, you saw one hobbling zombie step into view and then another and another and another, until you realized it was a horde of too many to count. Instantly, people began to run in the opposite direction and so did you, taking the metal rod with you. The sound of hungry man-eating _things_ made you run faster. Someone slipped, a middle-aged man, and before anyone could stop and turn to help him, the horde was already there and his screams echoed throughout the airport. You stared for only a moment as his skin was torn and his arms ripped off and his intestines pulled from him. You stared until you realized, if you didn’t start running again, you would be next. You swung the metal rod at one monster that got too close and started sprinting again.

You caught up with the rest of the flight as they turned a corner into the airport security lines with the machines still running. Several of the rope barriers were still up surprisingly and everyone tried to worm their way through, ducking and leaping over them, weaving their way through the lines. Hearing the horde behind you, you ran through one of the x-ray machines, not noticing its attempt to scan you, and you glanced back to see several monsters try to barrel through it at once. You saw several zombies run through the rope dividers, knocking them down and getting caught in them. You noticed an older woman, maybe in her mid to late fifties or early sixties, be tackled to the ground as a zombie launched at her. Turning back ahead, you ducked under some ropes and ran through the metal detector, disregarding its alarms.

A mother, a father, and their son were the first to make it past security, but they were not met with safety. The father, who held the ten-year-old son, started running for the stairs on his right and the mother looked the opposite direction as they disappeared from her side. She saw another horde come from the left and she choked out a scream. She turned to look at her husband to find he wasn’t there. You ran past her, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward with you. You ran down the stairs with her and, just as you reached the bottom, you saw the husband and crying son come back, relief spreading across their faces at the sight of each other. You turned to see only half of the flyers on the flight come running down stairs behind you, a couple being yanked back by the flesh-eaters.

“We have to keep going!” You exclaimed, shoving the mother forward and the father grabbed her arm, pulling her with him. You heard their son’s cries over the zombies’ moans and shrieks. “Head for the doors!” Glancing out the large glass windows, you noticed a still-running shuttle bus with its doors open. The family ahead of you opened the doors and you shouted, “Get in the shuttle bus!” They did as you told and closed the bus doors once inside. Hoping they weren’t going to leave you, you quickened your pace. The pilot caught up to you, running past you, and your eyes locked for a moment before both of you turned to see another horde come from the opposite side of the building, the monsters leaping and stumbling down the stairs. You were going to be sandwiched between angry zombies.

“God, save me!” You turned and saw the religious woman not too far behind you and the co-pilot right on her heels, her eyes wide and watering. “Please!” The co-pilot bolted past her as she slowed. She stopped and fell to her knees on the bloody floor. Her hands linked together and she shut her eyes in prayer. “I repent! Lord, my savior, please, I repent my sins!” The co-pilot slowed to get her up but, upon realizing the horde was too close, kept running. She was barreled to the ground by the horde and you saw a zombie bury its teeth into her flesh, pulling until it came off, the stretching of the skin making your stomach heave. The pilot grabbed your arm and pulled you along. All that was left of the flight was you, the pilot, co-pilot, and the family waiting in the shuttle bus.

The three of you made it outside and the father opened the shuttle bus doors for you all, glass shattered as monsters launched themselves through the windows and doors to satiate their hungry stomachs. Once on the bus, the father closed the door, but a monster made it on with you. The father started driving and you took your rod and shoved it through the zombie’s skull, over and over until it stopped moving. The father opened the door and you shoved it out, the horde long behind you but still running. Shaking, breathing out of control, head throbbing, heart racing, you sat down on the steps of the bus. Setting the bloody, brain-riddled rod beside you, you put your head between your knees.

The bus was silent, aside from the engine, heavy breathing, and crying, as the survivors tried to comprehend what just transpired and the world that they now live in. The little boy wailed into his mother’s chest as she held him and silently cried into his hair. The father struggled to focus as he drove on the surprisingly clear enough roads. The pilot sat in the back of the bus, blank-faced and pale, and the co-pilot sat on the right side of the bus, alone and shaking uncontrollably. Your eyes landed on each of your fellow survivors in silent thought. They were all empty handed and you realized that you lost your duffle bag at some point inside the airport. You stood up, their eyes drawing to you at your movement, the co-pilot flinching, and you sat in the first-row seat just behind the door, rod in your hand.

“We need to leave the city,” you said, to your surprise composed and steady, looking out the window. No one objected and the father started south for Virginia, glancing at his family in the rear view mirror.

This was the start of the end of the world for you. These were your first moments in Death’s domain. This was when you become someone entirely new. Someone cold, ruthless, and strong; a survivor. Someone built for Hell.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for cliche chapter titles eh? :)


	2. And Then There Were Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so a mess happened and I deleted this chapter in the next and am starting over so if the chapters are slightly diff from what was originally posted it's bc i have no idea what changes i made to it here so yeah apologies. i'm a noob

Four years after the outbreak, after D.C., and all that was left of the group of six survivors were two. Your group had made it out of the city before the roads got so backed up you couldn’t go any further. You all stayed the night in the bus; although none of you really got any sleep. When the sun came up, the six survivors ventured down the road, the only weapon: a blood-crusted metal arm of a chair. And when a horde of zombies was spotted mingling down the road, you all went west into the woods. You all walked, tired, hungry, and thirsty until you came upon a neighborhood at the edge of a town. 

You knocked on the door of one of the houses and when no one answered you opened the door cautiously. The family that had once lived there was gone and you all made camp there. Ransacking the place, the co-pilot and the pilot were able to arm themselves with a baseball bat and a kitchen knife. Electricity and water were still running at that point, so you all had been able to shower and make food with whatever was left in the kitchen (the family who lived there had taken much with them when they were leaving)--which had been frozen lasagna and tap water. You had found a backpack and you filled it with snacks and deodorant and other important items you could find. The father had done the same for his family, packing clothes and toys for his son that had belonged to the boy who had previously lived in the house. 

You all had tried to turn on the T.V. to check for any news but all you got was static and the seven bars of color. There was no radio and the internet was down. You had charged your phone with a charger you had found in a kitchen drawer and checked all the missed calls and texts from your mother and family and friends. You had tried to listen to their voicemails but when one of your close friends died screaming on the phone you couldn’t continue. 

But it was that night, for the first time, the survivors talked to each other over the dinner the mother had made. 

“So what are your names?” The father had asked. The co-pilot answered first. 

“Trevor. Trevor Knowles.” 

Trevor glanced at you and you finally took a moment to really look at him. He was young, close to your age, and attractive. He was tall and lean and he had a voice that you knew would have made you swoon in any other setting. His sandy brown hair flopped in wet curls on his head from the shower. His icy blue eyes were extraordinarily stunning and your heart would have skipped beats if he looked at you before the end of the world. You hadn’t noticed how handsome he was when you all were being chased by hungry monsters. Had this been any other normal day, you would have been freaking out about what to say and how you looked and if you possibly had a chance. 

“And you?” 

Pulled from your thoughts, you glanced at the father who asked the question. The father had his arm around his wife’s shoulder, his hand mindlessly stroking her pale skin. Their son had fallen asleep stretched across their laps on the couch in the living room. Sparing a glance at Trevor, you saw him gazing at you and you almost blushed. 

“(Full Name).” They smiled warmly at you and you couldn’t help but smile back, if only briefly. 

“I’m Brian,” said the pilot, “Just Brian.”

“And you guys?” Trevor asked, setting his dinner plate aside. 

“I’m Richard, this is my wife, Mary, and this is our son, Peter,” Richard answered, smiling lovingly at his wife and son. 

“He’s beautiful,” you couldn’t stop yourself from saying. “Peter, I mean.” You blushed, embarrassed. Mary grinned appreciatively and stroked Peter’s soft brown hair. 

“Thank you,” she replied truthfully. “He’s my pride and joy.” 

Trevor looked away from the family awkwardly and your eyes locked for a moment when he did. It wasn’t until four months later that you guys hooked up. 

That was what you considered Day 1 of the New Age. It was one of the last few days you had a hot shower and a proper meal. The next few days were spent in that house until the water stopped running and then the electricity. You guys had filled bottles with water thankfully in preparation beforehand. Richard and Mary packed a rolling suitcase of their necessities. Trevor and Brian found a duffel bag each and you had found a tent that you thought might be useful in the future. Then you all continued on into to town to see who was left. You were met with desolation and despair and man-eating monsters. 

Day Ten was when you left that town and moved on to the next, further south. You all scavenged what you found left in stores and houses. You learned the hard way to stay off the roads when a group of survivors tried to steal everything you all had. Luckily, Richard had overpowered the only one with a gun, shoving his knife through the base of his skull, and gave you, Brian, and Trevor a chance to attack the other three men. These men were the first men you all killed; the first living men. Peter and Mary had been in tears and Mary struggled to hush his wailing, keeping her hand over his doe eyes. A few nights later, when you and Richard were on watch, you asked him how he was dealing with taking another man’s life; it was something that was constantly on your mind, keeping you up at night. 

“You know,” he murmured, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the orange light of the fire flickering in the lenses, “I want to tell you I am dealing with it, but the truth is I’m not.” 

“But you seem...fine,” you had responded, vaguely surprised. He shook his head and he shivered slightly. It was dead winter and the only source of warmth for you six was the fire that seemed to struggle to stay strongly lit. You sat across from him, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and back against the wall, your legs curled up to your chest. His head fell back against the wall for a moment as you waited for a reply. 

“I’m not okay with taking a human life. I’m not okay with killing, but the world we live in now requires that. We have to kill those who threaten us, like we’re primitive beings in the Stone Ages. We’ve been placed in a time where we are fighting for our lives. Our fight or flight instincts are in hyperdrive and we are stuck with the constant need to fight. Fighting and fighting but not only for ourselves, but our families, our friends, whatever or whomever we have left.” 

You held your breath as your gaze remained on him. You didn’t speak. In the moment where neither of you spoke, the crackle of the fire and the cold wind outside was the only thing heard. The red flames sent light dancing across Richard’s eyes and you felt the heat surround you and fill the room with warmth. Closing his eyes, he let out a hushed sigh and he gulped. You bit the inside of your cheek gently as he opened his eyes and looked at his softly snoring family. 

“I don’t want to hurt anybody, but I will do what I must to protect my family. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them. They’re my pride and joy and if I lost them I don’t know what I’d do.” He paused to gaze upon them, softly smiling with so much love and admiration it left you breathless. “I justify my killing that man with protecting my family. I am okay enough with killing someone or stealing from them if it means my family will live. I’d rather do anything else than hurt someone but we’ve been left with no choice. Death surrounds us and it demands either our lives or our humanity. For my sake, I’m going to pretend like those are two completely different things.” 

Speechless, you looked at the floor, wrapping your arms around your legs, and placed your chin on your knees. The earnesty in his words and the tortured composure of his voice sent your mind spinning. It was in this moment you decided to be okay enough with killing too. You decided that your family, these five survivors of the flight, were enough reason for you to kill and steal and do whatever you need to do to ensure their safety. And protect them, you did. You became ruthless, fearless, and powerful. Anyone who so much as looked at them the wrong way found out exactly what you could do, what lengths you would go for them. And after a while, murder became almost easy; you developed a numbness to it that made you a skilled survivor and leader. 

The next night, after you had to sneak through the neighborhood to hide from other scavengers, it was decided that, since your hometown was the closest, you all would head there to look for your family. You had to swallow the tears that welled up in your throat as you thanked them for letting you search for your family. Trevor had later told you, after you confided tearfully in him how grateful and remorseful you were for what they were doing when you were lying in the same sleeping bag, sticky, sweaty, and clothesless, that there was nothing left for them anyhow. 

“My brother is in Iraq, probably dead, and my mom is in Utah, also probably dead. It’s just too far. Richard and Mary have everything they need, or at least enough, and Brian doesn’t have any family.” 

You still hadn’t slept easy that night. 

It took three and a half months to get to your hometown, zombies and frightened people steering you off path, and when you arrived, you walked through the dead town with shaky knees. It didn’t take you long to find your house and you didn’t come across any person or monster on the way. Your town was dead and silent, the only thing heard was the icy wind. With sweaty hands and pale skin, you had walked up the steps to your door and turned the knob only to find it locked. You smiled slightly with a light huff of a laugh; you’re mother was always stingy about locking the door. You didn’t have your keys with you so leaned down to the outdoor socket next to the door. Lifting the covering, you felt for the key on the underside of the lid and pulled it off, the velcro scratching stubbornly. 

When you had unlocked the door, you were met with dust and silence. You sniffled as you gingerly walked inside, peering cautiously around the room. You tapped the end the end of your metal baseball bat, that you had traded your metal rod for, on the wall--as was usual custom for entering buildings, be it locked or not, by that point--and waited for anything to walk out. When nothing did, you ventured further in and found the house was mostly disheveled, drawers open, things on the counters and on the floors, cabinets and doors open, like someone had left in a hurry. You walked down the hall to your right instead of walking into the kitchen and checked the open rooms, which had been the bathroom, your brother’s old bedroom, and your parent’s room. 

There was no one there and, as you left your parents room, all the contents, like clothes and photos, gone, you were met with your old room, the door closed as it always was. Slowly, you opened it and let the door fall open. Everything was the same as you had left it the last time you were there, save for a small stuffed turkey sitting on the edge of your bed. Your feet unsettled the dust on the floor as you walked toward the toy. Holding it in your hands, you suddenly remembered you never got to celebrate Thanksgiving with your family.

“(Name),” Richard called down the hall, startling you, making you drop the stuffed toy. “Come here.” You did as requested and when you arrived in the kitchen you were handed a note. 

 

_ (Name), _

_ If you ever make it home, please head to Hyland Island where your brother went to boot camp. He says it’s a safe place. He’s already there and your father and I are going there, too. Please be there. I love you. _

_ \- Mom _

 

And so you all had set out further south towards South Carolina for Hyland Island. It took longer than you would have liked--thirteen months. You all were able to find a working car, but along the way, Mary had gotten too sick to keep going; you all had to hold up in a cabin till she got better which took nearly a month. In the year that it took to get there, though, the flight survivors took a heavy loss, for Brian had killed himself, sometime after Mary had healed. He had hung himself in a house you all had been shacking up in. He left a note and all his things for you to divide and use. The note said he wasn’t built for Hell. He wasn’t a survivor and he couldn't stand to live in this world anymore. Brian gave up; he stopped fighting. And Peter had been the one to find him, strung up by his neck like a ragdoll.

Trevor had died not too long after that. He died a hero, sacrificing himself to save you when you two got trapped by a horde. Trevor hadn’t given up; he died fighting. He died fighting for you and it left you with ringing ears and a sore throat. Never had the words ‘I love you’ been shared between you two and never had you guys become an official thing--however official you can really be when the world was a living nightmare--but everyone knew you guys were something. Richard and Mary had walked on eggshells around you, apologized for your loss, and tried to comfort you as best they could. You had taken it in stride, never letting them know how you really felt. How it wasn’t primarily sadness and grief you were feeling but remorse and confusion. You feared that Trevor loved you because you didn’t love him. He was part plaything and part lover to you; the affection was there but most of the time it felt empty. 

But the four of you that were left had arrived in one piece at Hyland Island, which wasn’t really a proper island, it was just a dune in the marshes. The borders of the camp had been lined with fences and guards and the entrance was heavily armed and guarded. Weaving through wrecked and old cars, you had driven up to the entrance and, noticing the guns the soldiers of the military base held on you, told Richard, Mary, and Peter to stay in the car. You put the car in park but left it running as you stepped out, leaving your weapons in the car. 

“Who are you?” A male’s voice hollered at you, cautious. You raised your hands as you tentatively walked towards them, hesitating when they started at your movement. “What do you want?” 

“We’re just a couple of survivors that heard about this base way back when. We mean no harm.” Your (eye color) eyes scanned the large metal gate doors and briefly noticed all the bullet holes and marks in them. They’ve been attacked by humans before. They were scared and suspicious. 

“How many?” 

“Four; there’s a kid, too.” The soldier--or perhaps he wasn’t a soldier; you weren’t really sure-- lowered his weapon for a moment and glanced at the car. Confliction flashed across his face as the summer sun beat down on him. A younger soldier to his left murmured in his ear something you didn’t hear. Sweat started to roll down your temple and your mind raced with desperate hope that they would let you in. 

“There’s a town two miles back that’s been mostly cleared of flesh-eaters. It should be safe enough for you all to stay.” 

“But-”

“I’m sorry.”

“My brother! He’s a Marine! He’s here! Lance Corporal (Last Name)! He should be here!” you exclaimed, trying to reason with him, near pleading. There was a pause as another possible soldier came over to the man that turned you away and whispered to him. With an odd look of something that resembled surprise, the man nodded and opened his mouth to speak again. 

“What is the Lance Corporal’s full name?”

“(Brother’s Full name).”

“What company?” 

“Charlie company; I don’t know what platoon.” 

“And what is your mother’s name?” 

“(Mother’s Name).” 

There was a moment of silence as they checked your answers and relayed them to the man in charge. You heard a rustling in the woods to your left. You watched as the soldiers spoke silently from the high walkway between the towers on either side of the gate, their lips moving with no sound like an old Chaplin movie. Another rustling in the trees, louder and closer, caused you to glance nervously at the woods and gulp. Before whatever was in the leaves could come out and get you, the gates were opened and your heart flew with relief. 

“Get in the car and drive in,” the man ordered. You had wasted no time getting in the car and driving in. After being questioned by the soldiers, you all were taken into the island and then examined by doctors. Later, when you all had finished being checked in and examined and questioned, you were told to sat in the visitor’s center that you remembered waiting in years ago when your brother had graduated boot camp. And you had thought that three months without your brother had been a long time. 

Your mother and your brother had been brought in and you had never cried so hard in all your years of life. The overwhelming joy of finally seeing them after a year in Hell and, furthermore, the months you had gone without seeing them before the end of the world was sickeningly relieving. You had held each other and cried and wailed and you introduced them to Mary and Richard; you never mentioned Brian or Trevor and neither did Richard or Mary, to your relief. You had learned that your father had passed shortly after arriving at the base due to a heart attack. You almost laughed when you heard that. The world is controlled by the living dead, by man-eating monsters that tear into the skin of the living, by evil men who have succumbed to the fear of death, and your father died of a heart attack. How stupid. 

But this happiness at the camp only lasted so long, for, just fourteen months later, the camp fell; it fell in fire and blood and empty bullet casings. It fell to monsters and men. Men that tore down the walls and lead a horde of monsters into the island. They came in the night like thieves and they tore your world apart. They set fire to everything you cared about, they stole everything you needed, they destroyed everything you loved. Your mother had been the first to go in the invasion. She was a nurse and she was on night duty at the camp’s hospital. The villains that ruined your home went into the hospital guns blazing; they left nothing alive. Peter, Mary, and Richard stayed in the same barrack as you and you guys had subconsciously grouped together again. Your brother had ushered you four out of the chaos and towards the emergency exit on the other side of the island, to the west, before running off in the direction of explosions, gunfire, and screams. 

You never saw him again. 

The four of you bolted. You ran and ran, stopping to fight a horde that pushed through the northern fences. There was a large group of people running in the same direction as you all and Mary had been dragged down by a stranger that got caught by an undead. Peter, in Richard’s arms, had seen it and screamed. Instantly, Richard had turned and gone back for her without hesitation, placing Peter on the ground, pushing him forward, telling him to  _ “Run!” _ . You had been running just a ways behind them, fighting of a few undead, when you turned at the sounds of scream that sounded too familiar and saw Richard take a thick stick to a horde that was feasting on a body that you instantly knew who was. With tears in your eyes and your gun without ammo, you ran past Richard and the undead and what was left of Mary’s corpse, catching a glimpse of  Richard being bitten. You picked up the crying Peter as you ran past, cradling him in your arms, and placed your hand behind his head to gently bury his head in your hair so he couldn’t see what was happening. 

The emergency exit had been attacked, too. A massive horde the size of a small town roamed in, capturing anyone who ran that way. Seeing death all around you, you took a hard left to the south fence and snuck into the thick woods. You ran as quietly as possible, trying to hush Peter’s cries, three undead on your trail, until you were met with the fence. You had practically thrown Peter over before climbing over yourself and when on the other side you grabbed his hand and kept running. You didn’t stop running until you got to the shore of the dune where you spotted a boat not too far off. You barrelled through the marshy waters till it was up to your chest and then got in the boat with Peter. To your luck, the small, rickety row boat still had ores in it and you rowed and rowed till you made it to the mainland and then kept running. You ran hand-in-hand with Peter till you were far enough away that when you turned back you could see the glow of the fire and the smoke that rose over the horizon. The ashes of your family flitted on your lashes and burned your eyes to where they filled with tears, so many tears that you struggled to see. 

You and Peter had spent that night, Day 1,155 of Year 3, in a small, run down hunting shack in tears, shivering and pleading to forget everything that happened that night, everything they saw. With nothing but the pajamas on your backs and an empty glock, you slept with your arms wrapped tightly and desperately around each other. And in the moments just before you fell asleep, face buried in Peter’s frail, shaking shoulder, you vowed to never  _ ever  _ let anything happen to Peter. Because all you had left was him. And it came to be that that was all you needed, that was enough; it had to be. 

When morning broke and the sun burst across the sky in breathtaking beauty, ashes in your hair and the stench of death still in your clothes, you two started your next journey. You did as was done in the first year. Wandered, gathered, survived. It was an endless cycle you were in. An endless cycle that you are still in, for, now just under a year later, on Day 1,497 of Year 4, you are still wandering aimlessly. You have made your way back to Virginia and are spending your days with no destination, no hope or desire of a better world. Your nomads with dried blood on your knives and hands, dirt under your nails and filthy, unruly hair, and Peter never out of arm’s length. 

Here you are: fierce and protective, a tiger protecting her cub, the crimson stain of the lives you’ve taken and the humanity you’ve given up nothing but an afterthought to you, the faded memories of loved ones that leave you feeling empty are buried in the same graveyard the old world is buried in. 


	3. Stranger Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made mistake bc I'm stupid and a noob so i'm reuploading this and the last chapter i hope it all works out again i'm so sorry for all the shittiness that is this and myself. please enjoy.

“Hey….Psst….Hey...”

You stirred only slightly from your heavy slumber.

“Hey, (Name). Hey, wake up.”

The voice was quiet and gentle, the tiniest bit of growing excitement hiding in it. The innocent and boyish voice made your heart rise from sleep and your eyes fluttered opened tiredly. (Eye color) orbs fell upon large brown ones and recognizing them and who they belonged to immediately, you shot up from the couch you had been sleeping on, picking up the Glock beside you. Eyes wide, you raised your gun, ready to fire upon the threat and with your heart racing and breathing too quickly, you started,  

“What? What is it, Pete?” Peter gently pushed you back down onto the couch to sit and laughed quietly; an innocently sweet sound.

“Nothing, nothing! Everything's fine!” he assured, a smile spreading across his cheeks. You looked at him confusedly as he took the pistol from your tense hand and placed it on the floor beside your feet. It was morning, pale rays of sunlight streaming in through the curtains on the windows. You ran a hand through your filthy, unwashed hair and gave Peter an expectant look. He smiled and sat on the couch beside you.

“Sorry, I woke you, but...Happy twenty-eighth birthday, (Name),” he beamed. You let out a surprised chuckle; you had completely forgotten it was your birthday.  _Wow_ , you thought, _I’m twenty-eight_. You opened your mouth to speak but Peter raised his hand to stop you. “And I got you something.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small, square-shaped box. It was crudely wrapped in old, stained newspaper with a dirty shoelace tied in a bow on top. Gingerly taking it from him with surprised eyes and a growing smile, you felt it in your hands and it seemed to be a jewelry box.

“I’m sorry it’s so poorly wrapped. It’s not really appealing with all _that_ , but it was the best I could do.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. Smiling, you untied the shoelace and tossed it to the floor. “It took me a while to make,” he laughed. “It was kinda hard what with the lack of abundant supplies but yeah.”  

You unwrapped it and gently opened the flat, dark blue box, continuously glancing at Peter. You inhaled sharply when your eyes landed on the gift. It was a long necklace with a compass instead of a charm. The strong chain was silver and the compass was simple and functional, although the glass was slightly scratched.  

“You can open it. I made it into a locket,” he murmured half proudly.

Turning it to the side, you opened it and found a polaroid picture of Peter on one side, albeit faded and small. He was taking a picture of himself in a dusty, cobweb-covered mirror. The camera was in front of his face and you could see dirt on his skin. The lighting was dull, stray sunlight streaming in from the holes in the walls. The building the picture was taken in was old and rundown and incredibly damaged. A large web was settled in the lower right corner of the mirror and a spider was lowering itself from the ceiling somewhere by Peter’s head. In the mirror, you could see a couch and other average furniture, and a piano. There was a hall and in it, there was a blurry silhouette of who you assumed was yourself.

 The other picture was of you sitting in a large oak tree with Peter beside you. You had a book in your hands and Peter was leaning in close to gaze curiously at the pages; you were looking at him with a small smile on your face. Neither of you had weapons on you and your grimy backpacks weren’t anywhere to be seen. You both looked happy and clean with the sun beaming on you. It was like the world never ended.

You remembered this moment vividly, the memories filling your mind, making you relive the moment again. This was just a couple of weeks before the military camp was attacked. The meadow the tree was in was on the shore of the island. It was the start of spring, flowers in bloom and bees buzzing, life beginning; peaceful and safe.

You remember the weather was so nice you and the Parkers decided to have a picnic there. You all ate homemade peanut butter and apple sandwiches on freshly baked bread and oatmeal cookies and chocolate pudding. Peter ate so much chocolate pudding he was almost sick and he ended up falling asleep in your lap some time after the picture was taken. And it was Mary, you believed, who had taken the picture.  

The polaroid snapshot was as faded as the first and slightly damaged from travel. The image was slightly blurry so you couldn’t see what book it was you were reading and you suddenly found yourself wishing you could remember what book it was.

“And the hardest part was engraving it,” he said quietly with his eyes on the floor and you closed the locket and looked for the engraving and found it on the back.

 

_Home_

 

You smiled, heart beating so warmly it spread from head to toe in tingling waves. You pulled him in for a tight hug, compass in your hand, and swallowed the tears stinging the back of your eyes.  

“Thanks, kiddo,” you murmured genuinely, “I love it.” His chin dug into your shoulder gently, his small arms around you, and his brown hair tickled your ear. Pulling away with a slight sniffle, you grinned and put it on. The compass fell to just below your chest and you held it in your hand, waiting to see which way the compass needle was going to point. You laughed when it pointed to Peter.

Looking up, you yawned, the sunlight streaming in warming your skin.

“C’mon, Petey. It’s daylight; we should head out.” You patted his back as he yawned, too. You grabbed your backpack and gun, checking the mag. “And grab the hunting rifle; we’ll go hunting today,” you added. Peter swung his backpack over his shoulders and handed you the hunting rifle which you swung over your shoulder.

“Ready?” He nodded and you opened the door of the upstairs office of the public library that the two of you were staying at.

You two have been in the small town for a few weeks. It was a ghost town when you arrived; a few undead here and there, but nothing you couldn’t handle. The small town was surrounded by woods and it was far enough from the interstate that not a lot of other survivors--friendly or otherwise--came through. In fact, not a single living person has come through the town except you and Peter. It was your town and you both had settled in nicely; it started to feel like home. But it was dangerous to get comfortable; the more comfortable you got, the more on edge you felt. You knew Peter was settling in _too_ much, that he was starting to feel too safe. He was letting his guard down and it worried you.

The two of you made it into the woods, carefully avoiding some traps you had set up around town, and walked far enough into the woods you couldn’t see the town. There was a meadow with a stream running through it several yards ahead and you stopped before you got to it.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the pleasant silence, “This is as good a place as any. Up we go.”

You secured the hunting rifle on your back and started to climb the nearest pine tree, making sure Peter was close behind you. You settled on a branch big enough to support you and Peter sat on the branch next to you, back against the tree trunk. You both sat up there for quite some time, in silence, snacking on the apples that you picked from the apple trees on the north side of town.

“I spy with my little eye…” you started, noticing Peter began to get bored. He rolled his eyes with a smile at the silly game you always played with him. “Something...blue.”

“The sky?” he guessed instantly.

“Nope.”

“Those flowers over there in the meadow.”

“Uh-uh.”

“My sweatshirt?” he asked and you shook your head, an amused smile adorning your face. “I give up,” he said, defeated. You pointed to the tree opposite you.

“Those robin’s eggs over there.” He huffed as you grinned triumphantly at him. “Your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye something...yellow.”

“Hmm...the sun?” He shook his head. “The….the flowers in the meadow?” Peter groaned, annoyed.

“Why are you always so good at this game?”

“There’s not a lot of yellow things in the forest, Pete.”

“There’s not a lot of blue things either!” He exclaimed and then sighed. You patted his knee comfortingly before continuing the game.

“I spy with my little eye….”

“A deer,” Peter interrupted, voice just barely above a whisper, and he pointed towards the meadow.

You poised yourself, readying the hunting rifle, and took aim. It took you a moment to find it looking through the scope, the leaves covering your view. It was a fair sized female deer, enough to feed you both for at least a few days, possibly a week or so--if you stored it properly and rationed it right. The forest animal was munching on the grass and wildflowers, oblivious to the perils of the current world and to the gun aimed at its head. The crosshairs of the scope lined up with its skull and you exhaled, hoping it wouldn’t move. What a shame it was to kill such a thing of beauty.

But just before you could pull the trigger, it scurried off into the woods, startled by something from the opposite side of the meadow.

“Dang, I was really looking forward to eating that,” Peter pouted. You kept quiet as you lowered the gun and scanned the meadow for what startled the deer. “Let’s see if we can follow it,” Peter said and started to climb down the tree.

“Wait,” you commanded softly and he paused mid-climb, looking up at you confused and expectant. Still scanning the meadow waiting for something to appear, you looped the rifle over your head and shoulder and said, “Something scared that deer; I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a rotter or runner or something.” He nodded understandingly and continued his descent down the tree and you followed shortly after.

Once on the ground, Peter was already taking off towards the direction the deer ran (east)  and you hurriedly caught up to him, grabbing his shoulder gently.

“Don’t run off like that, Peter. Especially not when an undead or a person may be out here with us,” you sternly whispered and he shrugged half apologetically. You rolled your eyes and gestured for him to lead the way. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” he murmured under his breath half to himself as he quietly lead the way. It was the beginning of fall, so there were already several red and yellow leaves decorating the forest floor. The fallen twigs and leaves crunched noisily under your feet as you hurried after Peter. He was much quieter than you, knowing just where to step to avoid snapping sticks. You swore he would have been a spy or a ninja if the world wasn’t shit.

Peter moved swiftly and stealthily through the forest, his eyes focused and excited. He was a limber boy, lean and slim and quiet; it made him easy to sneak around and get into small spaces. And he was quick and strong--and an absolute genius--for his young age of fourteen. He was quite the climber, too, much better than you.

He got ahead of you fairly quickly and you struggled to keep up just as quietly. He was eager to find the deer. He abruptly paused behind a tree and raised his hand to stop you, eyes locked on his prey. The deer, about twenty feet away, was grazing in a smaller opening, the yellow sunlight cascading brokenly on it through the thick canopy. You pulled the rifle off your shoulder and silently aimed at the deer again. At this short distance, the scope was a little too much, so you had to adjust it to the lowest setting. You took aim at its head and exhaled soundlessly, but just before you could pull the trigger a twig snapped from your right and startled the deer again; it took off at top speed further east.

Peter sighed, stepping out from behind the tree in front of you, and started to chase after the deer. Before he could, you pulled him back behind the tree and covered his mouth to mute his surprised yelp. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you put a finger to your lips to hush him.

You glanced from behind the tree and saw a rotter stumble into the small opening. Peter’s eyes flashed with realization when he heard its gurgling moan. Neither of you moved as you waited for it to walk away, hoping it wouldn’t notice you.

Rotters--the first to be infected in the outbreak, the oldies--were vaguely stupid at this stage. They generally lose their sense of smell and sight, they can’t feel pain, and they become weak with rotten bones and organs. Rotters are the slow ones, the ones who have mold, spores, moss, and vines growing through their torn flesh and skin. They’re the worst smelling ones and also the easiest to kill. If you were being chased by a herd of rotters, you could simply walk and not worry about them catching up to you. But despite all of this, they were still dangerous, just, perhaps, the least dangerous on the zombie spectrum.

The rotter stumbled about in the opening, slightly sniffing the chilly air. The used-to-be-man seemed to catch a scent, for it chomped its rotted teeth at the air. Its paced quickened a fraction as it followed the scent with disoriented steps. You hoped it had smelt the deer and not you two, but alas, it had and it neared the fairly small tree you both hid behind.

Peter’s eyes clenched shut as he heard it near you and you slightly leaned in closer to him out of fear and comfort. You made the mistake of shuffling your feet to hide better, for a twig snapped beneath your weight and seemed to echo off the forest trees. At the sound, it quickened its pace slightly and was more assured of finding its next meal.

With its cataracts for eyes, it staggered closer towards you and your hands silently gripped the large tactical knife strapped to your waist, ready to draw. It could hardly see but it could see enough to know that you two were there if he passed the tree. The monster, with its bloody and torn clothes, gnawed at the air in front of your tree as it came closer, its teeth snapping loudly with force. You pulled the knife out halfway, ready to drive it into its rotted skull when a loud bang could be heard from deeper into the forest.

The rotter instantly turned, drawn by the new sound, and lumbered south, where the sound came from. When it was out of earshot, you sighed with relief and let go of Peter. Your white handprint faded quickly from his mouth and you winced as you hadn’t realized how hard you were holding him.

“Sorry,” you mouthed and he shook his head with a wave of his hand. You stepped back away from him and created a little more distance between you two but kept an eye on the walker stumbling away.

“Is it gone?” he whispered. You peeked around the tree and nodded when you couldn’t see it anymore. “What was that sound?” he asked, voice slightly louder. You shrugged and put your knife all the way back in its holster. “Should we check it out?” You internally debated with yourself as Peter stood out from behind the tree and waited for your response. He walked into the clearing and listened for any more sounds.

“Nah,” you decided, turning back to walk back to town.

“But--it could be someone,” he argued.

“And if it is,” you started, turning to face him, “I don’t want anything to do with them.”

“They could need our help.”

“Or they could try and kill us.” You placed your hands on your hips. “I don’t want them knowing we’re here. They could try and take our shit and I ain’t having that, Pete.”

Suddenly, a loud gunshot rang through the woods startling birds into flight. Another shot echoed and then three more. Silence fell after the last shot and Peter and you stood wordlessly in the small opening. You stared at each other as you waited for another shot to ring out but the only sound was the wind in the leaves. Never breaking eye contact, you began to shake your head at Peter, aware of his thoughts, but he abruptly took off running in the direction the shots came from. Cursing under your breath, you chased after him.

The deeper into the woods you went and the closer you got to the source of the gunshots, the more undead you heard. The collective noise of their gurgling moans grew louder and it made you uneasy. Peter slowed ahead of you and motioned for you to slow down, too. You did and together you both hid behind a large pine tree that was nearly thirty feet away from the growing horde. The horde was surrounding a small hunting shack that was falling apart. The rotters were banging on the wood of the shack and it began to shudder with the force.

“Someone’s in there,” Peter whispered. You nodded, well aware, and you knew what he was going to say next. “We have to help them.” When you didn’t say anything, he turned to you and reasoned, “There’re no runners, just walkers.” You almost groaned. You really just wanted to get away from here. Peter seemed to read your mind. “Whether we help them or not, we still need to get rid of this horde, otherwise more will come and they’ll attract runners and even mutated. You know this.”

You couldn’t argue with him because he was right. Whether you wanted to help the stranger inside or not, you had to get rid of the undead, which in turn would help the person, anyhow. You supposed it was time to play hero. With a quiet sigh, you surrendered.

“Alright,” you mumbled, voice low, “Okay. Okay, we’ll help them, but if they’re bit, I’m putting a bullet through their skull.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to do differently.”

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” you started, “I’m gonna climb the tree and get inside through that hole in the roof. And you’re gonna lead the horde away-- _very_ carefully.” He shook his head. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m better at climbing and I’m quieter than you _and_ you’re better at killing them. You need to lead them away and take them out.”

You looked up at the sky through the trees and noticed the sun would set soon. Then you looked back at the horde and started to count how many there were.

“There’s over a dozen of them, like fifteen,” you said.

“And I’ve seen you take out more than that _and_ when they were all coming at you. You’ll be fine.”

“And what if the person in there is dangerous or is bitten and or dead and about to turn--”

“I’ll take care of it.” He gestured to the Glock strapped to his leg.

Before you could protest or argue any further, he started to climb the pine tree. With a huff, you hurried off to the horde, snuck up behind one rotter, and drove your knife through the base of its neck. The two next to it noticed you but you quickly took them out. You had taken out six by the time Peter had crossed the trees to the roof.

Pausing to watch him leap from the nearest tree to the roof, the rest of the walkers took notice of you. You cursed under your breath as you and Peter locked eyes for a moment before he lowered into the shack and you took off. You ran far enough away, the herd following you, that you couldn’t see the hut anymore. You weren’t sure, though, if it was a good or bad thing that you hadn’t heard any gunshots. When you had carefully taken out the rest of the walkers, you ran back.

You walked up to the door of the shack and found it locked.

“Peter,” you called. There was a shuffling from inside and the door was unlocked and opened to reveal Peter with blood on his shirt. Your eyes went wide with panic.

“It’s not mine,” he clarified quickly, “It’s his.”

Peter moved so you could walk in and when you did, your eyes fell on the man that attracted the undead. He was burly, muscular, and huddled into the corner with a bloody blanket wrapped around him. His shoulder-length hair was shaggy and matted with blood and filth. Tucked away in the corner, his whole body shook and sweat soaked his clothes.

“He’s unconscious. And hurt.” Peter looked at you with pleading eyes. Steadily, you held his gaze as you contemplated what to do. You started to shake your head when Peter said, “He’s missing an arm.” Your eyes widened. “That’s where all the blood is coming from. He cut it off or something and now he’s bleeding out. We have to help him. He’s not bit--from what I can tell.”

You paused and realized you were backed into a corner. You had to help him. Gingerly walking past Peter, you kneeled by the man and lifted up the thick, blood-soaked blanket wrapped around his left shoulder. With a gulp and a wince, you had to keep yourself from vomiting from the fresh wound. You pursed your lips and turned away.

“He needs medicine.”

“We can bring some back and treat him here-”

“He’s gonna freeze _and_ he’s defenseless. We have to bring him home and help him,” Peter stated. Deep in your heart you knew this was true, so, with a sigh, you stood up and gestured for Peter to help you.

“Help me get him up,” you grumbled.

Together you and Peter lifted the heavy man up from the ground and supported his crushing weight as you walked back to town. You had to stop several times to rest and catch your breath and reposition him when he fell out of grasp; and all the while, he never stirred for a second. All the way back to the library, stumbling and huffing and dropping him, he never woke to your surprise and concern. _He better not turn_ , you thought.

 

By the time you and Peter got him on a couch on the first floor of the library, it was dark out; the sun had set and you had to light candles to see. You were almost too exhausted to treat the man, but Peter had reminded you softly that “This is the right thing to do.” And so you got out the first aid kit and tried your best to treat the man, who still never woke.

You unwrapped the blanket with great care and grimaced at the blood that dripped onto your hands. A tourniquet was tied tightly around the shoulder and you debated on whether or not to take it off. You had absolutely no medical experience; all you knew was basics.

But deciding against it, you took the scissors in the kit and cut his filthy shirt off, leaving the tourniquet in place. When his torso was revealed, it took almost all you had to stifle a gasp and you, instead, gulped as silently as possible. _Oh, dear God,_ you thought panicked, _He’s fucking ripped._

With a shake of your head, you continued the task at hand, ignoring his shining-with-sweat chest with some difficulty. The wound nauseated you and you had to hide your face in your shoulder to mask the smell of blood and the sight of the nasty injury. The flesh was torn and mangled around the open wound. You could see the muscles, tendons, ligaments and blood vessels and the fractured bone; it made you want to puke.

Peter handed you gauze and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, turning his head to avoid looking directly at it. Just before you dabbed some peroxide onto the gauze, you paused, thinking, and with narrow eyes, you eyed the wound. Abruptly, you dumped a bit of the peroxide on the wound without warning and Peter gasped behind you. The man twitched and jerked, but stayed sleeping. You placed the gauze over the end of the injury and the blood instantly drenched the white covering.

Peter handed you more gauze as you cleaned it and stopped the bleeding almost completely. Steeling your nerves and swallowing your nausea, you finished treating his injury and wrapped it up in all the gauze you had left. You forced antibiotics down his throat for infection and, when everything was done, you leaned back with a sigh.

Peter handed you a wet washcloth and gestured to your head. You dragged the washcloth across your forehead, pulled away, and noticed blood. And then, looking at your hands, you realized how stained they were, so you rinsed them in water and scrubbed the blood from your hands and fingernails.

After you finished, you paused, blood-stained rag still in hand, and looked at the one-armed man sleeping on the couch. Staring blankly, your mind got lost in thought. You wondered what happened to him; you could tell that the arm was cut off--at least mostly, it seemed he might’ve just ripped it off after halfway through which made you cringe--perhaps he had been bitten, that seemed likely, and in a desperate attempt to survive, he removed the arm entirely.

“Must’ve been bit,” Peter voiced your thoughts, drawing you back to reality. He sat quietly at a table with a solemn look as he gazed at the man. You only nodded in response and turned back to the stranger. A moment of silence fell over you as both of you got caught in thought. With the sudden realization of how late it was, you told Peter softly without looking at him,

“You should head to bed, Petey. I’ll take watch over him.” He didn’t move at first and he looked like he wanted to say something, his eyebrows drawing up and his lungs filling with air with his mouth half open, but he kept quiet. And after a moment, he stood up soundlessly, his mouth falling shut, and walked up the stairs to the office where you normally slept. “G’night,” you called.

The door closed behind him with a soft click and you briefly wondered if he got anything to eat, but then you figured the sight of the wound made him not hungry anymore. Likewise, you didn’t think it was possible to eat something and keep it down after dealing with that. Your appetite was gone and replaced with nauseating images of cut flesh, muscle, and bone. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to relax, even the slightest. When you opened your eyes, they connected with the unconscious stranger.

Your (eye color) eyes trailed over his body, starting from his dirty boots and his worn out jeans. The stranger’s right arm fell over his toned abdomen and his callused hands were bloodied and dirt was caked under his nails. The candlelight trembled across his skin and made it glow and shine, the sweat far more evident than before. His body made you bite your lip and you were gone for minutes as you watched his chest rise and fall steadily.

When your eyes finally made their to his face, you were able to take him in completely and you held your breath, overcome by what you saw. The jawline, sharp enough to cut his arm off honestly, encased a short, straight nose that seemed to suit him perfectly and deep-set eyes under thick, dark eyebrows. On his dimpled chin and along his jaw, his stubble was bordering full on beard and you were certain that his thin lips were kissable even when chapped.

You shook your head vigorously at your thoughts and glanced up at the office. The room was dark, so you assumed Peter had gone to sleep. In your hands was the washcloth you used to clean your own hands and face and, staring at the filth that collected on the stranger’s body, you got the idea that this man, whoever he is, must be rid of the filth adorning his body immediately. Thus, you filled a bucket with water from a tub you kept outside and heated it over a fire. With cautiousness and care, you dipped a clean rag into the hot water and wrung the excess water out before dragging it gently across his golden glowing skin.

The moment you placed the hot, wet washcloth on his chest he quivered and you froze, afraid you had woken him. To your relief he stayed sleeping and so, squeezing the rag lightly, you dragged it across his skin and instantly the dirt came off. You stroked the cloth across all the visible parts of his body and you even took his shoes off after several minutes of self-debate and hesitation to clean his feet.

By the time you brought the rag to his face it was filthy and the water was rather cold. You got a new rag and dipped it into the water, ignoring the lack of warmth--he was a stranger anyhow, he didn’t deserve hot water. With careful precision, you gingerly took the rag and, getting close to his face, cleaned his beard, his forehead and cheeks, and, with the softest touch, his eyes. You rinsed his hair the best you could with the cloth and behind his ears and his neck and you lost yourself in the act of bathing him. You almost felt filthy when you realized what you were doing; you felt dirty with vulnerability and stupidity.

You dropped the rag into the murky water and moved the bucket aside. Finished, you leaned back against the front side of the chair opposite the couch he was on and didn’t dare get a towel to dry him off. You had already pushed his boundaries and especially your own.

With a deep and exhausted sigh, you closed your eyes and leaned your head back on the seat of the soft chair. Soon you found yourself lulling to sleep, the only sound was the breath of the man you had just _bathed_ and the wind on the windows.


	4. Spoonfeeding Someone is a Good Way to Make Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this is a bit shorter than the others but hopefully the next ones will be longer. I think this one is slightly better than the others imo tbh but idk...Anyway, I wanted to get y'alls opinion on something. I'm growing slightly frustrated with second POV I feel like it's kinda restricting what I can do with the story and my writing in general. So I wanted to ask if you guys would prefer first or third POV or if you'd like it to stay in second. I'll keep it if that's what y'all want, but I personally think I'd enjoy third person much better and that it'll just work better with the story, but I'll leave it up to y'all. Also, would it be too confusing to change it to present tense? Would y'all prefer present or past tense? I feel I'd have to go back and change the last chapter at least if I changed the tense, but idk I'll probably keep the tense the same...But please let me know though!! Anyway, happy reading! Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!! 
> 
> Also sorry for Bucky being ooc I suck at writing

You sat with a bowl of deer stew warming your hands and throat, watching Peter in the orange candlelight, taking another spoonful of the hot food. You glanced at the stranger who still hadn’t woken from his slumber on the couch. He was still shirtless and shoeless and one-armed, but he had three blankets to keep him warm from the nights that keep getting colder day-by-day. It had been three full nights since you two had found him, this being the fourth night. There were moments where you wondered if the man was still alive, but the rise and fall of his chest assured you otherwise.

Peter was eager for him to wake; he was eager to get to know him, make a new friend. You knew Peter thought he was going to stay, that he was going to join your tiny family. Your hesitance and lack of willingness to let him stay were evident to Peter, expected even; but the plan to drive the stranger three towns over blindfolded and leave him there to fend for himself was a plan Peter was completely unaware of. Sure, the man was a real-life Adonis, but he was a stranger and strangers are dangerous and unwelcome.

Finishing your stew, you stood to put your tin bowl away to be cleaned tomorrow--or whenever was convenient--and as you approached the makeshift kitchen set up by the library’s fireplace, with a quiet voice, you called back to Peter.

“Want any more stew?” He didn’t turn to look at or acknowledge you; he simply kept his head down, eyes and mind focused on his paper and his pencil scribbled across it sloppily.

“Peter,” you said, trying to gain his attention. Still hunched over the desk, he grunted in response.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want any more stew?” you asked, a small grin spreading across your cheeks.

“Hmm? Oh...No, thanks, though.” You huffed as he continued his work, flipping a page in one of the open books spread out in front of him. With quiet footsteps, you passed the couch and took Peter’s empty dish and placed it in the bucket of cold water with yours. Wishing not to disturb Peter or the stranger, you grabbed the book you were currently reading and curled up in the large green armchair across from both Peter and the stranger.

The room fell silent for an hour or two as you read, Peter studied, and the stranger slept. The wind howling at the windows, the scratch of lead on paper, and the flipping of pages were the only sounds to be heard. The peaceful quiet wrapped around you as you read and you drowned yourself in the story, forgetting the current world and all others in the room. The heat from the fireplace warmed you and you only had to get up twice to stir the fire to keep it burning.

But the serenity couldn’t last forever. The stranger on the couch across from you stirred slightly in his sleep. Both you and Peter paused and stared at the man. He stirred again with a sigh and his eyes clenched tightly. He was either having another nightmare--as he’s been having these past few nights--or he was waking up.

It was the latter. The man groaned softly as his hand came up to rub his temple. Peter and you shared a glance but did nothing. The man sighed again softly and his brows furrowed as he felt his left shoulder, his eyes opening when he realized the absence of his arm. His eyes seemingly search for his missing arm where it should be for just a second before noticing you and Peter. Eyes that you couldn’t quite tell the color of due to the firelight gave away nothing of how he felt or what he was thinking. You analyzed his every movement, the way his eyes darted around the room and from you to Peter and back again, the way he struggled to sit up, but gave away nothing of being in pain.

Silence and tension melded into one to create a thickness in the air that you could feel on your skin. The stranger let the mass of blankets fall off his shoulders and settle at his hips as he sat up completely and gingerly rubbed his left shoulder, trying to ignore his lack of arm. He blinked slowly, but you could tell he was glancing between blinks; probably, you assumed, searching for his gun or a weapon of some sort and an escape point. Peter remained quiet, waiting for you to initiate conversation, for he knew you’d rather he kept quiet till you could gauge the man fully.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” you started, voice light and almost friendly, although Peter could hear the cautious undertones. The man held your gaze for several moments without responding. You raised a brow half expectantly and the man blinked once, twice, three times slowly.

“H-how long have I been out?” His voice was raspy and quiet with the lack of use and long hours of sleep. You could tell he chose his words carefully, trying to gauge who you are and what you are capable of; just as you were.

“Three days,” you answered blankly. He inhaled and blinked with surprise. He looked to his lap and then his wound, getting trapped in thought. After several minutes of silence, you spoke.

“You got a name?” you asked almost accusingly. You dog leafed the page in your book and set it on the table beside you, carefully placing it in front of the knife to hide it from view; though you were sure he’d probably seen it already. Out of the corner of your eye, you noted Peter discreetly place his hand on his knife next to his books.

The man locked gazes with you as you leaned forward slightly. He contemplated telling you, analyzed his situation and knew, with the state he’s in, it’s best to be honest and be as non-threatening as possible. You and Peter, despite being infinitely smaller than him, still had the upper hand, for he was still weak and tired, not to mention, one-armed.  He nodded gradually and answered with a quiet voice.

“Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you let the name roll off your tongue casually as if testing its truth. You deemed it well enough. “Well, Bucky, we found you over in the woods surrounded by undead, thought we’d help out.” You ignored Peter’s pointed glance.

“Thank you,” Bucky murmured honestly.

“I assume you were bit? Thought life was too good to let go and decided you could live without your arm?” Looking back at the empty spot at the mention of his arm, Bucky nodded. “...Can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” you mumbled mostly to yourself before continuing louder, “You’ve got some balls, dude, that’s for sure.” Bucky almost wanted to smile at your use of ‘dude’.

“Kiddo,” you called, never breaking gazes with Bucky, and Peter looked up at you. “Why don’t you get Sleeping Beauty some food? I’m sure he’s hungry. Are you hungry?”

He nodded hesitantly and Peter stood to warm a bowl of leftover deer stew. You briefly noticed Peter take his knife with him from the table as he got up and place it back on his holster. Moments later, Peter returned with a steaming bowl of stew and a spoon and, at a cautious distance, handed them to Bucky who received it gratefully. Your eyes watched him sharply and keenly as he awkwardly sipped the stew. You wanted to laugh; he looked pitiful trying to eat with only one arm.

Taking pity and with extreme caution, you went and sat beside him on the couch, with the most uneasiness curling in your stomach, and took the bowl from him. Very aware of not only Peter’s eyes on you but Bucky’s as well, you spooned some food and lifted it to his mouth. He hesitated greatly and awkwardly as you two stared at each other, you waiting and him unsure. You raised your eyebrows feigning indifference and gestured to the spoon with a glance.

He opened his mouth finally and you placed the spoon inside, his mouthing instantly closing around it. Scooping more food on the spoon, you felt Peter’s eyes staring incredulously at your back and you calmly snapped,

“Finish your homework, Peter.”

You continued feeding Bucky more at ease when you heard the scribble of pencil on paper again. Bucky and you worked together to get himself fed and after nearly ten minutes the bowl was empty. You lowered the bowl with the spoon in it to your lap and sat awkwardly, eyes darting to look at anything else.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispered so quietly Peter couldn’t hear. You nodded with pursed lips, hoping your embarrassment wasn’t too evident. Avoiding his gaze, you stood up and placed the bowl on the table by Peter, who you knew was sending pointedly surprised glances your way.

“Are you still hungry?” Peter finally piped. “I’m sure we still have a little left.” Your glare was ignored with a mockingly innocent smile. Bucky glanced back at you and he almost chuckled but shook his head in response to Peter. “Are you sure?” Peter pressed.

“Do the dishes, Peter,” you requested annoyed. After he turned to you, you commanded, “Now.” He raised his hands in surrender and grabbed the empty bowl from the table before going to the fireplace, muttering something about ‘homework’ and ‘maid’ under his breath, although with a grin.

With a sigh, you grabbed your water bottle from the end table by the armchair and unscrewed the lid, handing it to Bucky, who took it appreciatively. He took a sip and then another before gulping half the bottle down.

You sat and leaned back in the armchair, shaking your head with closed eyes--which you shouldn’t have done, close your eyes that is, but you went unharmed. Bucky watched you as you looked at the windows covered in newspaper, wooden boards, and bookshelves.

“What’s your name?” he asked tentatively, unsure if you were going to answer. Head leaned back still, you turned to look at him, contemplating your answer, hand toying thoughtlessly with the compass around your neck. He started to think you weren’t going to answer after a couple minutes of silence, but quietly you responded--

“Does it hurt?”

With another question. It almost caught him off guard and he ignored the lack of an answer to his question. He could hear Peter washing the dishes behind the couch and he wondered if he was listening. He chose to speak as quietly as you.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” you said instantly and this _did_ catch him off guard. It wasn’t immediately evident in appearance, but the silence was enough to assure you of his surprise. You meant what you said and he could tell; he wasn’t expecting sincerity, although, he wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting at all. You already seemed to be someone unpredictable.

“Are you tired?” he asked, noticing how you blinked sleepily at him.

“Always. We all are.” Your eyes locked on Peter lazily as he dried the dishes. Bucky couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off you.

“You come from a group?”

Your question sent Bucky’s mind reeling slightly as he remembered that _yes,_ he did come from a group. His silence, though, was answer enough to you; and in the instant you knew the answer, he saw guarded walls fly sky high around you.

“How many?” Your voice was harder now and your eyes more alert.

“Five.” He noticed how your eyes flashed with alarm and worry. The both of you paused as you glanced at Peter as he went into the back room to put away the dishes. When he disappeared into the darkness of the back of the library, your stern (e/c) eyes returned to Bucky’s. Before you could open your mouth to speak, Bucky said, “They’re not coming for me.”

With creased brows, you asked, “Why?”

“I don’t think they know I’m alive,” he answered, voice quiet with sadness. You bit your tongue as you watched him lower his eyes to the floor. Suddenly, he shifted, moving to place his bare feet on the floor and his back against the couch cushions. He shivered the moment his feet touched the tiled floor and his toes curled with a pop.

“You got separated,” you stated. The movement to sit facing you must’ve tired him slightly because he sighed heavily and seemed to take a moment to perhaps catch his breath or maybe settle with the pain. He nodded with closed eyes as his right hand rubbed his shoulder.

“We were holed up in a grocery store, got overrun, I...got left behind.”

“That’s when you were bit,” you concluded. He nodded. “Did they see you get bit?”

He shrugged.

“I assume they just saw me surrounded and I guess when I went down they thought…” You nodded understandingly. You brushed your (hair length) hair behind your ear with a long, tired inhale, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out, your eyes averted.

“You got lucky, you made it out alive.” He nodded in response, eyes on his only hand in his lap.

Peter came back from his chore and took a seat back at the table with all his work, oblivious to the heavy, sad air clouding the room.

“Does it hurt?” Peter asked, unaware to its already been asked. He stared expectantly at Bucky who glanced at you. You only shrugged.

“Yeah, it does.” Peter nodded solemnly.

“We used practically all our medicine on you, definitely all our gauze. We don’t have many antibiotics or pain relievers left, but I’m sure I can find something for you,” Peter said and started to stand. Before you could stop him, Bucky did.

“No. Uh, no, that’s alright. I-I’ll be fine.” Peter stopped and glanced at you, to which you raised your eyebrows in response, and then sat back down awkwardly. “Thanks, though.”

“My name’s Peter, by the way.” Peter grinned; always the friendly one. You almost smiled at him. “You’re Bucky.” And Bucky nodded with a slight chuckle.

“Hi,” Bucky greeted and Peter’s grin grew.

“Hi,” he responded cheerfully. “I haven’t seen a friendly guy in a long time. It’ll be nice to have a friend who isn’t momming me constantly.” He laughed at you and you rolled your eyes playfully, despite your anxiety over Peter’s wanting Bucky to stay. Bucky only smiled a small diffident smile.

“Did you finish your homework, Pete?” you questioned. He turned to Bucky with an exasperated look and pointed at you.

“See what I mean? She moms me.” Bucky chuckled as you huffed Peter’s name in annoyance and rolled your eyes again.

“You know what? It’s late. Go to bed.”

“But I didn’t finish my homework--”

“Seems you’ll have some work to do tomorrow then. Get goin’,” you gestured with your head towards the office-turned-bedroom. With a defeated sigh, he stood, leaving his books and papers on the table as they are, and slowly walked to the stairs. You smiled and called out to him, “G’night, kiddo.” He waved his hand in the air dismissively and disappeared into the office.

Silence fell again as you leaned back in the hideously patterned, green armchair and crossed your arms. Bucky watched amusedly for a few moments to your unknowing.

“Homework?” he asked softly, perhaps to keep the conversation going or to fill the quiet or maybe even just to hear you talk.

Pulled by his voice, your eyes settled on his bemused ones; you were certain at this point that he had to have blue eyes. You nodded, looking away towards the closest candle, the hot wax dripping down the side. You were gonna have to get a new one soon.

“It passes time. Plus he’s an absolute genius; he understands shit I didn’t learn until, like, college. He’s pretty fond of Biology, Physics, and mechanics, mostly physics and mechanics. He studies those the most.” After a pause of reminiscence, you said softly to yourself mostly, “Kid got his brains from his parents for sure. His dad was always teaching him,” you continued louder, “I figured I should continue the job, although I’m stupid in comparison to him. Bit of a step down in the teacher department, but, hey, we’re in a library. He learns from the books.”

Bucky only chuckled silently and partly in disbelief and partly in understanding. An awkward silence fell and you gulped uncomfortably at the information you so openly and willingly shared and the utter lack of personal boundaries you displayed earlier this evening. (E/C) orbs darted about embarrassed as orange-stained blue ones watched you intently. Suddenly, you yawned, Bucky’s stomach flipping the slightest as he watched you cover your mouth and sigh sleepily.

Before you could catch him staring, he, with some effort, fell back on the couch and turned his back to you, pulling the blankets over him with his right hand. As he shut his eyes and tried to fall asleep he heard you say,

“If you try anything, by the way, I’ll kill you.”

 

He didn’t doubt you for a second.

 


	5. Mutated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SOOOO SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T POSTED IN SO LONG AND THAT THIS IS SHITTY AND SHORT!!! I'm so sorry, you guys. I got swamped with a whole shit load of school work after break and then exams and then I got sick after it was all through and I just didn't have the time to write and I sincerely apologize. I don't know if I'll be able to write often in the future because I'm taking an extra class and also another creative writing course, but I will continue this!! I'm sorry it's been so long and I'll write more in the future. Anyhow, you'll notice this is in third person instead of second and that's because I wanted to try out third person. Let me know if you guys prefer second or third, please! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy and know that I put no editing into this whatsoever except the first part which I don't think is too bad but it just gets progressively worse as it goes on. Once again I'm really really sorry and I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think!! <3

“We have to go to on a run,” (Name) said, placing a map on the table that Bucky and Peter sat at enjoying their breakfast of potato pancakes.

It had been three and a half weeks since Bucky’s arrival and he had settled in nicely. He had healed better than expected, given his healer’s medical experience or lack thereof. To his surprise, he learned to do the simple everyday tasks literally single-handedly fairly quickly. The pain eventually became a dull absence, just an uncomfortable ache in the back of his mind.

However, the first few days were spent in pain and suspense of when he was going to be kicked out, for he knew the moment he woke up and laid his eyes on (Name), the woman in charge, that she had no intention of letting him stay. Although, to Bucky’s silent gratitude, Peter latched onto him with an eagerness that made (Name) hesitate--hesitate long enough for him to get comfortable and for all three of them to get attached to one another.

Thus, he has yet to leave and it appears to him that he may not ever leave. (Name) was trusting him more and more every day, although Bucky knew she still contemplated his leaving.

“What for?” Peter asked around a mouthful of food.

“Supplies, of course. And don’t talk with your mouth full,” she replied. The map on the table between them was of northern Virginia, where they currently resided. There was a blue star over the vacant town they called home and black x’s over several of the surrounding towns. (Name) pointed to a red x on the map that was fairly far from home.

“We need to go here. I know it’s a little further than normal, but we’ve already taken what was left in the other towns. We gotta expand our scavenging range.”

“That’s a pretty big town, though, bigger than ours at least. More people would have scavenged that place meaning there's less stuff. We could find nothing,” Peter said, swallowing his last bit off food. (Name) shrugged.

“Well, then we move on to the next town. If we don’t find anything anywhere around here, we’ll have to pack up our shit and find another place,” she stated carefully, glancing at Peter as he chased his pancakes with water. He didn’t look at her or show any sign of protest or reluctance at her words. “Maybe we’ll move north after this. I’m tired of the Virginia heat.”

“Or, maybe, west. I’ve never been to the west coast before,” Peter commented and she nodded thoughtfully.

“Winter is coming and we best not get caught in the northern snow storms, yeah?” she smiled and Peter grinned back.

Bucky glanced between the two of them and he was hit with the sudden realization that he didn’t want to leave at all. He didn’t want to have to fend for himself or be alone. He really didn’t want to be alone, not again. He liked the little family that was here and he has grown too fond of the two of them not to stay. But when (Name) glanced at him, he could see in her eyes that maybe this run was for more than just supplies and his heart dropped.

He wanted to stay. He wanted to help protect Peter and (Name) because she was always protecting Peter at the cost of her own safety. He didn’t want to be alone. He had to convince (Name) to let him stay. That, he decided, with steely determination burning through his veins and setting his jaw, was his top priority mission today.

“Alright, get your gear, boys. We’re headin’ out.”

“Bucky’s coming, too?” Peter asked and (Name) nodded.

“Of course,” was her short reply. She folded up the map and went to gather her things. “I’ll meet you boys in the car,” she said and before she walked out the door, she paused. “Bucky,” she called. When he looked up at her, she continued. “You’re driving.”

* * *

 It took three hours to get to their destination. It would’ve taken less if they hadn’t had to move cars from the road or gotten lost.

“You are the worst navigator that ever existed, do you know that, (Name)?” Peter exclaimed, stepping out of the car. He stretched with a teasing grin on his face as (Name) rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I’d gotten pretty used to Google maps telling me where to go, so excuse me if the hard copy is a little difficult for me to use.” And she lightly swatted him over the head with a laugh.

They parked the car on the interstate heading into the city and decided to walk the rest of the way in, in case people had already claimed the city. It wasn’t too far of a walk into the city. They hit neighborhoods before they hit any city streets and (Name) decided that they’d check the houses before heading further into the city.

The three of them checked the first house together. They readied their weapons and Bucky banged on the door three times before waiting for any undead to tumble out. When nothing happened, he opened the door and (Name) rushed in with her gun raised, checking the corners of the room with an acquired expertise.

Bucky followed in after her, then Peter followed him and together they cleared the house room-by-room. When they were sure it was safe, they relaxed and separated to search the rooms. Bucket checked upstairs and Peter checked the first floor and (Name) searched the basement. Neither of them found much of use so when they reconvened in the living room they were all sorely disappointed to have nothing but toilet paper and spoons.

“You guys check these houses and I'll check the next neighborhood,” (Name) said. Bucky’s arm twitched towards her as she stepped away.

“Is that really a good idea?” He asked hesitantly.

“You have one arm, Buck, and Peter is still a boy. I'll be better on my own than either of you.” Peter guffawed at her words.

“When will you quit treating me like a kid? I'm fourteen!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and lightly stomping his foot.

“That's a kid, Pete.”

“Correction: that is a teen, not a kid,” he retorted.

“Yeah, well, you're still a kid to me and when the world isn’t absolute fucking hell, I'll treat you like a grown up. I baby you for your safety.” And with that she smiled and kissed Peter on his cheek sloppily, ignoring his half-hearted protest, before giving a wave and walking away. She snuck between two houses on the opposite side of the street and slipped into the other neighborhood with ease.

Left alone and ignored, Peter turned to Bucky and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Bucky shrugged.

“She's a strong independent woman, Pete. What do you want me to do about it?”

Although Bucky really didn’t want her to be by herself, he had no choice in the matter. He didn’t want to disobey her and he didn’t want to leave Peter alone because he knew that was a sure-fire way for him to never see them again. As Peter started rambling (as per usual) about how she still treats like a child and how _ridiculous_ that is, Bucky walked over to the next house with a sore shoulder and Peter followed him. They did the same with the first house and searched all the rooms after they were cleared. Coming up empty handed again, they moved to the next house and the one after that and so on.

It wasn’t until they had cleared the seventh house on the street and stood in the living room, counting their findings. A pack of unopened toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, three pairs of usable socks, four clean bath towels, and a pair of shoes that fit Peter perfectly.

“Well, this isn’t so bad,” Peter said as he put on the new pair of Converse sneakers. Bucky didn’t reply as he split their items and started to pack them into his bag with some difficulty that Peter seemed to miss. Peter, used to his silence at this point, started to do the same, but his brown eyes strayed to the table underneath the window in the room. On it was a large flat screen TV covered in dust and behind the glass doors below it were several movies. His eyes lit up instantly.

“Wow, dude, look at all these movies!” he exclaimed as he started to rifle through them. He picked out a few and looked at them with a flash of emotion in his eyes that Bucky couldn’t identify.

“Oh!” he gasped, showing one of the movies to Bucky. “I remember this one! My mom took me to the theater to see it when it came out!”

Bucky winced internally. His heart always stung whenever anyone, especially Peter, mentioned someone they had lost. He’d always been sensitive hearted. After living in this kind of world for so long, though, he had learned to overlook other people’s loss and to find if their loss was his gain. He turned to stone, steeled himself to withstand loss and ignore sadness. But Peter was a different story. He was still a kid and he had lost more than any other survivor, including himself. Despite Peter’s smart-ass attitude, his ability to one-up Bucky at pretty much everything, and his ability to simultaneously annoy the absolute _shit_ out of him and impress him, Bucky didn’t ever want to see him hurt. Perhaps, Bucky realized, it’s because he reminds him of someone he once knew.

“Oh, man! I wanted to see this movie! And this one too! Damn, this one looks so cool! _The Empire Strikes Back_! A space fantasy movie; that's sick! Did you ever see this movie, Buck--hey!”

Bucky shoved Peter up against the wall beside the window and table. His only hand came up to place a finger over his lips in a shushing gesture. Peter, movie still in hand, fell silent immediately and stared at Bucky. His heartbeat quickened at the sound of groans and gurgling outside the window. Bucky watched with a hard gaze the herd that passed by the house as they shuffled and bumped into the house. In his head, he had been counting how many that were passing through but he lost count after fifty-two. There were two many to take on, they’d have to wait it out. The undead walkers and runners stumbled through the houses and into the street, unaware of the fresh meal inside. Bucky had never seen the walkers and runners in one herd together.

Sweat started to seep through his and Peter’s pores and down their foreheads as they stayed as still as possible, praying that an undead didn’t happen to peek into the window and see them. Bucky turned when Peter gently tapped his shoulder and Peter nodded at the front door of the house, which was wide open. With a nod, he gestured for Peter to stay put, the groaning and shuffling of the undead unnerving the both of them, and lowered to the ground. Bucky snuck to the door, squatting to hide under the windows, and glanced out the door quickly before he shut it, examining the herd. His eyes landed on an undead that passed in between two houses further down the street that was not like the rest.

This undead was grotesquely thin and unnaturally tall. It’s spindly legs bent backward and the hands had sharp claws in the place of fingers. The bones protruded from underneath the ashen skin that looked like leather and like it had been stretched and wrapped tightly around the monster’s frame. The skin had been so pulled back around the elongated, egg-shaped skull that the eyes were nothing but half-melted balls of slime seeping through the sockets and the nose was completely gone. The mouth was wide and took up the empty space the lack of nose provided and the teeth inside were varying sizes of sharp canines. A long tongue fell out of its lipless mouth and licked its eyes before curling back inside. Its neck seemed to be nonexistent and its head morphed directly into the shoulders.

The monster moved slowly, quietly, almost gracefully into the street. To Bucky’s disgust and shock, it almost seemed to move with an air of dignity, towering over the rest of the herd. It didn’t make a sound as it crawled on all fours across the street. The abdomen of the monster was sunken in towards the spine, the organs were gone completely. The undead was hunchbacked and Bucky was afraid to see it stand up straight, for it would surely reef the roof of the houses.

Bucky shivered and shut the door silently, falling to the floor and leaning against it. Peter looked questioningly at him and his uncharacteristically wide eyes, concerned and scared. Bucky gulped, trying to gather himself so he could take of Peter, and willed his hand to stop shaking. His mind started to assess the situation too quickly for him not to get caught up in it. He only had one arm and there were far too many walkers and runners for him and Peter to handle let alone _that thing_ along with them. They had to find a way out of the house. They were sitting ducks in there. He looked back at Peter’s terrified gaze.

“Mutated,” he mouthed and Peter’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. _Mutated_. They were rare; so rare that Peter had only ever seen one mutated undead since the beginning of the outbreak. Mutant zombies were the worst type of undead to deal with. They were wild, unpredictable, and entirely unique. Every mutated was entirely different from the next. Along with their sickening appearances, they were stronger and harder to kill. When you come across a mutated, you run in the opposite direction as fast as you can.

“Upstairs,” Bucky whispered as more undead continued to stagger by. Peter nodded, lowered as Bucky had done, and snuck up the stairs, wincing at the creaks they gave. When he was half way up, he stopped and turned to wait for Bucky. Bucky reached up and locked the front door, getting up to head for the stairs. He crouched past the kitchen and living room, sparing a glance at their bags on the couch, and up the stairs after Peter. Together, they entered the master bedroom that happened to be at the furthest end of the house from the door and hid in the bathroom, which Bucky knew had easy access to the roof. Bucky locked the bathroom door and headed for the window when he heard Peter sniffling.

"Bucky," he whispered through heavily flowing tears. He was still gripping _The Empire Strikes Back_  in his hand. Bucky froze. "They're head towards (Name)." 


	6. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry again that it took so long for an update! I'm really bad with commitment but I will try harder in the future! Also I turned this back to 2nd person idk why tbh just cause maybe I'll just keep switching it up idk idk anyways.....I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!!
> 
> And that cliche title tho am i right

You hadn’t found much in the houses you searched. Most of them had been cleared out or whatever you found wasn’t worth enough to keep or was moldy. All you had found in the three houses you had searched was a bottle of Listerine under a sink, an unopened pack of tampons hidden away in a teenage girl’s closet, and a pack of q-tips.

It wasn’t much and judging by the looks of the next house, you imagined you wouldn’t find much in there either. Regardless, you jogged up the front porch steps and knocked on the front door. When you heard nothing inside, you turned the knob only to find it locked. There were no windows surrounding the door to break so you could reach in and unlock it. You thought about breaking the larger window to your left that looked like it led to the living room but decided against it.

You went around back, opened the fence gate, and headed for the back door. Although it was locked too, it had square glass windows that were thin enough to bust through. You bundled up your fist in your jacket sleeve before punching the glass and knocking the remaining pieces to the floor. Unlocking the door, you stepped inside the house, the crunch of glass echoing underneath your feet.

You exhaled slowly, the air puffing up your cheeks, as your eyes examined the room. You didn’t bother to close the door behind you as you ventured further in. The furniture was filthy and your sudden entrance disturbed the dust in the room, the tiny particles falling around you, catching the sunlight and making your nose tingle with a sneeze. The house was bare, there were no pictures on the walls or on the tables. It was completely devoid of any trace of the family that once lived here years ago. Your hand gripped your knife strapped to your hip as you cautiously entered the kitchen.

The kitchen was big and open with an island in the center. It was a kitchen your mother always wanted and you ignored the thought as you began to search the drawers and cabinets. There was plenty of silverware and other kitchen-like items that weren’t necessary. You found duct tape in one of the drawers, but there was nothing else in the kitchen worth taking.

So you started up the stairs, only sparing a searching glance at the living room, and gripped the knife tighter with each creak of the steps. When you stood at the top of the stairs, you stopped and whistled, pausing to listen closely for any sounds. A quiet thump sounded from down the hall to your right and you unsheathed your knife halfway as you crept closer to the room the sound came from. Standing outside the door, you knocked twice and the thump sounded again.

You turned the knob slowly, but it was locked. Your (E/C) eyes fell to the floor, catching the movement of shadows coming from beneath the door. They moved slowly and steadily, but you couldn’t tell what shape it was.

“Hello?” you gingerly called. “If you’re alive, I’m not here to hurt you.”

When you were met with silence, you considered breaking the door down.

_Do I kick it in or shoot it?_

“Move out of the way, who’s ever in there,” you said, taking a step back, “I’m coming in.”

You supposed you give ramming yourself into the door using all your body weight to break the door down a shot. You only hoped you didn’t hurt yourself or make a fool out of yourself if there was someone alive in there.

But before you could start charging at the door, your eyes caught movement out of the corner of your eye outside the window to your left. You turned to look out the window and got a better look at what was outside. With a gasp, you saw walkers and runners stumble through the back yard and in between the neighboring houses, making your heart leap to your throat.

You crouched down out of view as your mind started to race. You crouch walked back down the hallway and entered the master bedroom where the window was on the front of the house. You peeked through the dusty curtains, hoping you would find only a few undead, but, alas, you were met with the sorry sight of at least thirty undead stalking through the street.

“Fuck!” you whispered and your heart competed for first in a marathon you didn’t want to run. Your stomach knotted as you listened to the disoriented stomping and groaning of the herd as it passed the house. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Your eyes danced across the room and when you found nothing to help you, you looked out the window again. “Aw, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ the shit outta me.”

More and more undead kept coming and you wondered when they would stop. There was at least a hundred at this point and your knuckles were white as they gripped your blade.

_What do I do, what do I do?_

The sudden realization of where the herd came from hit you hard, knocking all the air out of you. With wide eyes, your mind flew a million miles a minute. _Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter--Bucky--_

The crunch of glass echoed through the house. You gulped and tried to drown out the herd outside. A hungry grunt carried upstairs and made you flinch when the sound reached you.

 _Shit!_ _I forgot to close the door!_

You had to decide what to do right there, but your mind was filled with cotton and you were trying to steady your breathing and get Peter and Bucky out of your head long enough to think straight. The grunts grew louder as the undead stumbled further into the house and you prayed to whatever god was above that it didn’t come upstairs. But your heart plummeted as you heard the bottom step creak.

Crawling over to the bedroom door, you closed it as quietly as possible and pressed your back against it. With each step the undead--that you assumed was a walker judging by its slow gait--took, you flinched.

 _Bucky wasn’t supposed to come back with us,_ you found yourself thinking. _He better have protected Peter. They better be okay._

The walker finally made it to the top of the steps and it stopped, sniffing the air hungrily. You placed your hand over your mouth as your breathing erratic and loud.

_Please don’t come in here. Just go away._

The sounds from outside still hadn’t faded and the last thing you wanted was for all a hundred plus undead to try to eat you at once. The walker outside the door took a step in your direction and you could feel it getting closer. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes before you realized it and you couldn’t stop the whimper you let out as the walker shook the locked doorknob.

The walker had heard you and it tried harder to get inside, its grunts growing louder and hungrier. Your hand was still pressed against your mouth as it started to push up against the door. But suddenly, a thump was heard from the other room and the monster outside your door slowly creaked away, following the thumping sound. You almost wanted to cry in relief, but you were able to contain yourself.

As quietly as possible, you crawled back over to the window while the walker was preoccupied and peeked back out at the street. There weren’t many left at that point, at most, there were only about sixty, considerably less than before, but still too many to take on on your own, especially since some were runners.

You’d just have to wait them out and pray the walker down the hall stays distracted, but you knew you had to get back to Peter and Bucky as soon as possible. You had to know they were okay. With the adrenaline in your veins and your mind racing, you never even took a moment to realize that the herd was abnormal or that the day was coming close to an end. You checked out of the window again and decided that it was clear enough for you to sneak out the back and head back to Peter and Bucky.

You pulled the door open slowly so it wouldn’t make a sound and saw the walker thudding up against the door at the end of the hall in tune with the thumping you heard earlier. You snuck quietly towards the stairs, eyes trained on the distracted walker, and took one step downstairs. Slowly, one-by-one, you went downstairs, glancing at the walker and your knife in hand. But before you could reach the second landing that stood between you and the rest of the stairs, you saw the reflection of a tall, bony creature, its leathery skin rotted to the bone, step across the floor into view.

You turned and dashed up the stairs, barely making a sound to your surprise and relief, and back into the master bedroom. You locked the bedroom door again and wiped your sweaty hands on your jeans.

“What was that?” you mouthed to yourself. And then it dawned on you.

_Mutated._

You fought the urge to vomit as you stepped away from the door. You looked out the window again and you nodded, satisfied to see the last walker disappear into the next neighborhood. You hadn’t wanted to earlier but now you didn’t have a choice; you had to climb down from the roof. Pushing the curtains apart, you went to unlock the windows, but the dust from the curtains showered down on you and you couldn’t stop yourself from sneezing.

You froze, waiting to hear the banging of the Mutated and the walker at the door, but you heard nothing. You gulped but your throat was too dry and your wide eyes burned. Suddenly, nimble fingers gripped the bottom of the door and shook it violently. You let out a yelp that you couldn’t stop and unlocked the window as fast as possible. When you slammed the window open, you choked on a gasp when the door shook again.

The door busted open behind you and the tall, lanky mutated monster stalked into the room silently, crouching slightly to make it through the door. Its eyes were beady and sunken far into its skull that seemed to morph directly into its torso, but that’s all you bothered to notice. You shuffled out of the window and onto the roof frantically, but the creature was fast. Its teeth chomped the air where your foot had been, the clacking of the rotted teeth making you shudder.

You rushed to the other side of the roof as it reached its long arms out of the window and tried to climb through. You could hear the walker behind it and the sweat on your face started to fall into your eyes. The drain pipe on the side of the house, you realized, was your only way down. Lowering yourself down, you gripped it tight, trying your best to ignore the clawing monster, and started to shimmy down the pipe.

When you were halfway down, the Mutated let out a shriek so loud you thought glass shattered and the house shook. The scream startled you and you lost your grip and footing causing you to fall to the ground. A sharp pain burned through your side when you landed and you struggled to catch your breath. Your ears rang and your eyes blurred as you choked on nothing.

You pressed your hand to your side and winced at the pain. It took several moments for your eyes to focus, but when they did you let out a whimper, for a garden rod, that your mother used to help her tomatoes grow, stuck out from your right side.

“Fuck!” you coughed out. Your vision blurred from black to teary-eyed and you tried to push yourself off the ground, only to groan in agony. You had to get up, you knew you had to get up. Rolling your head to the right, you saw the Mutated come around the corner of the house and your adrenaline pumped, allowing you to pull yourself up.

“Fuck, fuck! Agh!” You ripped the garden rod out and started hobbling off in the opposite direction as quickly as you could. You heard the Mutated gaining on you and you knew that its astonishingly loud shriek had to have gained the attention of the herd. You also knew you were running in the wrong direction, away from Peter and Bucky and towards the herd, but you had nowhere else to go but away.

Red blood slipped through your fingers as you ran into the street. You didn’t know where to go. Going forward meant running into the herd; going back meant bringing the Mutated to Peter and Bucky-- _if they were even still alive_. You took a left and made your way to the street at the end of the neighborhood.

 _Get away, get away, get away, get away._  

You spared a glance over your shoulder and grunted, quickening your pace, as the Mutated got dangerously close to you. You noticed walkers and rotters start to appear from behind the houses where the herd went and you knew this was it. You were going to die. You were going to be eaten alive by a Mutated and its goons. Tears spilled over the edge and mixed with your trail of blood. You were getting weak and your vision was blackening around the edges and you wanted to curl up on the ground and cry endlessly. This was too much. The noise, the pain, the world. 

Suddenly, as you crossed the street into the next neighborhood, a van barrelled through the Mutated on your tail and you collapsed to the ground when you whisked around to see it happen. The Mutated twitched underneath the van before it backed up and ran over it again, silencing its screams. The van doors slid open on both sides and on the side opposite of you, two people stepped out and started unloading their assault rifles on the growing herd in the neighborhood.

Your eyes were too filled with tears and blood loss to really focus, but two men stepped out on your side of the van and knelt down beside you. Their voices felt far away as you slowly lost consciousness. The last thing you remember before blacking out was being lifted into the van by the two men and murmuring,

  
“Peter...Peter...Bu-”


	7. Stuck Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING IN LITERALLY THREE MONTHS I HAVE NO EXCUSE BUT IT'S SUMMER SO LET'S HOPE I STAY MOTIVATED AND INSPIRED ENOUGH TO KEEP WRITING THIS THING and in all honesty, the biggest reason I didn't update was because I just wasn't happy with it at all and I'm still not but oh fucking well I'm gonna go with it anyway hopefully  
> Side note: this chapter was written at drastically different times. Most of the last part was written in a very short amount of time, literally right before I'm writing this. (i have stupidly decided not to edit and revise) but if it feels inconsistent that's the reason. It essentially took me three months to write this. :( 
> 
> Buuuuut please enjoy and let me know what you think! Feedback is a great motivator!

You were awake before you opened your eyes. You listened to the sounds around you, completely drained and exhausted. All you could hear was the crackling of a fire and the scrape of a spoon against a bowl. At first, before you felt the pain, for a few brief moments you thought you were back at the library with Peter and Bucky, curled up on the couch under a blanket.

You listened to the steady breathing of the person next to you and the scraping of the bowl. You groaned as you started to wake up more, a sudden, sharp pain radiating from your side making you clench your jaw. Now aware and conscious, you felt sweat on your forehead and your hand flew to your right side, flinching at your own touch. Your eyes still didn’t open as you curled on your left side. The clattering of a dish on a table and some shuffling were background noise as you grind your teeth in pain and moaned again. Your memory started to flood back into your mind as a flash of the Mutated back in the neighborhood appeared in your eyelids. Realization hit you and you opened your eyes wide, glancing about the room with blurry vision. You weren't at home or anywhere familiar.

The clattering of a dish on a table and some shuffling were background noise as you grind your teeth in pain and moaned again. Your memory started to flood back into your mind as a flash of the Mutated back in the neighborhood appeared in your eyelids. Realization hit you and you opened your eyes wide, glancing about the room with blurry vision. You weren't at home or anywhere familiar.

Your (E/C) eyes met sky blue ones and you leaned away, sucking a quick breath in through your teeth. Sitting up with great difficulty, ignoring the urging of the stranger in front you to lean back, you scanned your surroundings swiftly. You took note of the fire, the boarded up windows of whatever building you were in, the limited number of candles, the couch you laid on; the only door in the room was behind you and your bag was beside it, along with your gun.

One, two, three, four people were in the room with you. One in front of you: a blond man gazing at you with concerned eyes; another in the chair to your right: he was dark skinned with a feigned relaxed stare as he moved a bowl to the side table to his right; another two behind the blond, a redhead woman sitting on another chair and a dirty blond man sitting on the floor in front of her, stirring the fire. Each of them had their eyes on you, save for the dirty blond man, but you could tell immediately, despite their best efforts, that they were apprehensive and more defensive than worried.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” the blond murmured with his hands resting just above your arms. “We aren’t going to hurt you.” Turning to the man to your right, he said, “Sam, go get Tony.”

The man, Sam, got up and left the room while you winced in pain. You didn’t know what to say when you turned your gaze back to the blond kneeling in front of you.

“I’m Steve,” the blond introduced, “We aren’t going to hurt you.” The distrust was evident on your face as you held his gaze. “Do yo--”

“So, the pretty girl is finally awake,” came a voice from behind you. You whipped around to see a man with dark hair and unkempt beard that looked like he tried hard to maintain, Sam following behind him. He walked towards you and, without hesitation and no regard for your personal space, sat next to you on the couch. Before you can react, he raised his hands up in a show of peace and surrender.

“I’m sure Steve’s already told you we aren’t going to hurt you and that’s true so long as you don’t hurt us.” His brown eyes stared heavily into yours and the scent of whiskey on his breath made you scrunch your nose.

“Tony--”

“I’m sorta the doctor around here so I need you to lift up your shirt so I can take a look at your wound.” When you didn’t move, he continued, “The way you’re holding it and the way you’re breathing pretty heavily means you might have torn your stitches. Let me take a look so it doesn’t get infected or something like that. I think a doctor would say that.”

He just shrugged at your furrowed brows and raised his own, gesturing to your side. You pushed the blanket to the side and lifted up your shirt, eyes dancing across the others’ faces before returning to Tony’s. Despite his quick, rough-around-the-edges attitude, Tony’s hands were gentle and warm. You looked down at your wound and saw blood seeping through the gauze wrapped tightly around your middle. 

“Yep. You’ve torn some stitches. Should be an easy fix.” He checked the exit wound and was satisfied that you had at least not torn that. Sam handed Tony a small bag and in it were medical supplies, more than you had seen in months.

The room was uncomfortably silent as Tony unwrapped your gauze. Your (E/C) eyes traveled over the room again. Sam sat in his previous seat, the couple sat in the same place, not having moved, and Steve was filling a bowl with leftover food. Cool hands grazed your bleeding wound causing goosebumps to rise over your skin. The wound was small, but the pain the radiated from it was substantially difficult to deal with. You inhaled slowly as Tony removed the stitches you’d torn.

Tony had you lean back on the armrest of the couch to mend your wound again. As he got to work, his eyebrows furrowed and brown eyes focused, your eyes stay trained on him. You struggled to tear your gaze away from his face as your brain swirled in thought. After several moments, you realized how close his face was to yours and reeled back, looking away. He noticed out of the corner of his eye and smirked. 

“Yes, I know I’m irresistible, but you don’t have to stare,” he said.

“Wha--no. You just look familiar is all,” you explained. Although it was the truth, you doubted he believed you. 

“Mmhmm.”

“Tony, just because the world ended doesn’t mean people won’t recognize you,” the redheaded woman said. Then it clicked. You knew who Tony was.

“Tony Stark?” You questioned surprised. He sent a shit-eating grin your way and you tried not to scowl. “I can't believe you survived.”

Tony Stark felt like a face in an old photo. He felt like ancient history, like he lived eons ago.

“Are you kidding me?” he started, “I'm worth billions of dollars and survived how many attempted murders? You don't think I was smart enough to use some of that money to build the safest and most well stocked safe room known to man?”

“That's not what I was saying, so don't give me attitude,” you snapped. “And besides, clearly it wasn't as safe as you thought, otherwise you wouldn't be way down here in Virginia.”

“We ran out of food,” he muttered and tugged particularly hard on your stitches. “And we wanted to find some people we know.”

“And did you?" 

“Did you?”

“More or less,” you answered after a long pause. Silence fell over the room again as you thought of your family and tried to will the memories away.

“How many people have you lost?” You asked before you could stop yourself. The way Tony froze mid stitch, the clenching of Sam’s jaw, and the stoic silence of the others answered your question.

“There used to be twelve of us,” Steve said, setting a canteen of what you presumed was water next to the bowl of food he placed on the coffee table in front of you. “The bunker was overrun and then there was only seven of us.”

“Jesus,” you breathed. You shuddered at the thought of being trapped in a bunker with the undead streaming through the only exit.

“Then we lost one on our way to D.C. and we lost another,” he paused, trying to gather himself. “We lost another just outside D.C.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have asked.”

“It’s--”

“And you?” Sam interrupted. “How many people have you lost.” He said more than asked.

“Well, I was on a flight from Manhattan to D.C. when the world went to shit. We landed safely but the airport was already infested. By the time my flight and I made it out there was only six of us.” Sam turned away.

“And now?” Steve asked gently.

“I found my family. We found a whole camp, but now...now there's only--there’s..there’s not as many.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve murmured.

“Hold still,” Tony interjected, grabbing your waist to keep you still as he wrapped gauze back around your wound. When he had finished, he leaned back with a satisfied look and put his supplies back in the bag. “Eat up,” he commanded. “You’ll need your strength.”

“For what,” you asked as you held the bowl in your hands. You scooped a spoonful of carrot stew into your mouth and sighed contently.

“For you to leave,” said Sam with a matter-of-fact tone that made you feel stupid. You hid your flushed cheeks behind your bowl.

“What he means,” Steve started, “is that we’re gonna help you find your friends.”

You paused for a moment, thinking it over. Your initial thought was appreciative and grateful, but it almost instantly became apprehension. Why would you want to lead a whole bunch of strangers back to Peter and Bucky? That’s dangerous and not worth the risk, regardless of the fact they saved your life. Your eyes dropped to the food in the plastic bowl and you suddenly weren’t hungry anymore.

_But it’s Tony Stark._

“No, that’s okay. I’m sure I can find them on my own,” you said. You don’t know a thing about Tony fucking Stark, besides that he was rich and beloved by three-quarters of the world’s population back when it still mattered.

“You don’t have to,” Steve said. “We can help you.”

“In exchange for what?” You placed the bowl on the table with a loud clang. “You saved my life--which I’m grateful for--but people don’t save lives for the bragging rights or the hell of it anymore. What do you want that you think we have?” You tried to remain as calm as possible. You didn’t want to anger them or disturb your freshly wrapped wound. No good getting in fights you know you won’t win, anyhow.

“We need numbers,” the redhead spoke up.

“Numbers?”

“Yeah,” voiced the man at her feet sarcastically. “The more the merrier.”

“I’m not following.”

“What they mean--”

“We’ve made enemies with some bad guys. Ya know, bad guys with beating hearts and functioning brains,” Sam interrupted Steve.

“Mostly functioning,” Tony commented.

“With who,” you questioned, stomach knotting uneasily.

“The same guys that got my friend killed,” Steve answered.

“Which are?” You raised your eyebrow impatiently.  

“They call themselves Hydra. It’s stupid, I know,” said Tony as he sat next to you on the couch. “But they’re dangerous and they’re relentless and they won’t stop till we’re dead or on their side.”

“There are sides in the apocalypse, now?” Your hands gripped the blanket in your lap and you couldn’t help but notice how dry your mouth was. “What’d you do to piss them off?”

“Oh, this and that,” Tony said, leaning back. His brown eyes locked with yours. “We just bombed their entire base and over half the people and all their supplies in it.”

“They were killing innocent people. We had to do it,” explained Steve, but you could tell it still didn’t sit well with him.

“Look,” you said, “I’m sorry you guys are in this mess and I truly hope they don’t catch up to you, but I can’t help you. My group isn’t even big enough and--”

“How many you got,” asked the man at the woman’s feet. With the dim light, it was hard to tell what color his eyes were, but you could still see the sealed away pain in them.

“There’s only three of us.”

“That’ll do just fine,” Sam said.

“No--”

“Yeah, like Clint said: the more the merrier. However little more; more is more,” Tony stated.

“You don’t understand. Y--”

“We’ll help you find them,” Sam interrupted again.

“Shut up for a second and listen to me, you assholes!” They all turned to you and the uneasy feeling arose again tenfold. You looked down.

“We can’t help you. I’m sorry. Your best bet at escaping them is to get to the other side of the country as fast as possible. Hell, go to Mexico and all the way down to South America. I hear Ecuador is wonderful this time of year.”

“Please, we need all the help we can get,” Steve tried to reason.

“No.” You looked up and met his sky blue eyes. “Please, don’t drag us into this. I have a kid.”

At that, the room fell completely silent. There was nothing to be heard but the crackling fire. Kids was always a game changer. Something about their solemn faces assured you they wouldn’t try to convince you that they could help protect him.

“He’s just a boy. His father and I--we’re all he has and I have to get back to him.” Sure, you were lying and playing the part of "desperate mother" up a little bit, but you needed to. You weren’t endangering Peter by dragging him into their mess, even if they did save your life.

Steve gave an exhausted sigh and ran his calloused hands over his face. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. You don’t have to help us, but if you would like our help finding your husband and son, we’ll help you.” Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Steve continued with a pointed glance at him. “We won’t put any of you in any more danger than we can help.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. Perhaps they could get you halfway to home and then you could leave on your own when they’re not looking, maybe steal some supplies. They seem like a very capable group. They’d be fine.

_I just want to go home to Peter and Bucky._

“No ring?” Tony was suspicious, now. You assumed he started to think you were a part of whatever Hydra thing they don’t seem so fond of.

“Lost it,” you answered with ease. “Back at the camp.” It would’ve surprised you, how effortlessly and normal it was to pretend Bucky was your husband and Peter was your son--even if it was really only in your mind--had it not been for the fact that you were starting to feel a desperate need to be away from the situation you were in. Let them help you find Bucky and Peter or go on your own--either way, you still had to heal.

_Stuck between a rock and a hard place._


	8. Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the best I could??? I hope it's good??? I tried.

Five long days after being rescued by Steve and co., you were okay enough to get going, but not quite at full capacity. Steve wanted you to rest a little longer but you refused. Peter and Bucky had been alone too long; you have been without them for too long.

So, all six of you packed your things and headed out. You learned that you had been staying close to the city in a boarded up house that you imagine had been abandoned before the outbreak. They had a van, the same one you faintly remember them hopping out of like they were the A-team or spies from Mission: Impossible. 

You told them to head back to the interstate where you, Bucky, and Peter had parked your car to scavenge. Sam drove on the opposite side of the road because everyone had piled up the streets trying to get out of the city. When made it to the interstate, the car that the three of you took was still there, but Peter and Bucky were nowhere to be found. 

“Are you sure this is the car,” Clint asked as you all stood around the car. 

“Yes,” you said curtly. “I stabbed my abdomen, not my brain.” 

“It was still a pretty big drop. Probably hit your head pretty hard,” he said. Before you could turn to fire back, Natasha, the redhead, spoke. 

“Clint, quit bothering her. You know it’s too clean to have been left here at the start.” She opened the driver’s side door and you were surprised it was unlocked. You had locked it before you gave the keys to Bucky. She searched through the glove box and console. “No keys. How’s this thing on gas?” 

You didn’t answer. You gestured for Natasha to move so you could get in and she did. You started looking through the car, in all the same places as her but came up with nothing that stood out to show that they had come back, that Bucky and Peter were alive. That is until you knocked the map in the glove box to the floor. 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw sharpie red on the map and you instantly dived for it. You got out of the car with the map in hand and spread it over the hood. It was the same map you used to mark all the towns you and Peter had cleared, scavenged, or marked unsafe. Beside the red x that marked the town you were currently in was writing in Peter’s handwriting. 

It read: 

 

_ (Name), we couldn’t wait any longer, but we left you the car to get back home. We’re walking back. Hope you’re okay. See you at home. Love you. --Peter _

_ P.S. Sorry for leaving the car unlocked. We had the only key. It’s under the floor mat.  _

 

Sam retrieved the key and started the car. It roared to life under the morning sun and you were gripping the compass around your neck. Your blood ran cold and your ears were on the verge of ringing. 

_ They left, _ you thought.  _ They  _ walked _ back.  _

“It’s got a little over half a tank,” Sam called. 

Steve placed his hand on your shoulder as Clint, Natasha, and Sam moved some of their things to your car. 

“It’s okay,” he said as kindly as possible. “You’re gonna find them. They went back home. You know where that is, right?” 

Nodding, you pointed to the blue star on the map. 

“Do you wanna ride with Sam and them or me and Tony?”

You didn’t bother questioning why they were coming with you and essentially stealing your car. Instead, you answered:

“You and Tony,” you paused. “There’ll be more room.” 

You settled into the back of the van once more and Sam lead the way in your car with the map. The road felt more chaotic than when you first drove it. You couldn’t stop thinking, thinking about Peter and Bucky and what happened to them. You could only imagine the worst. 

“Hey,” Steve called, “We’re gonna find your family. I promise.” 

Something in the way your stomach churned told you otherwise. 

  
  
  
  


Somewhere along the way, you and Steve had switched seats and you sat next to Tony with your feet propped up on the dash. You fiddled with the compass and watched the trees whiz by. You were jostled from your thoughts when the van stopped; you were an hour and a half from home. Cars were in the way and you waited for Sam, Clint, and Natasha to move them. 

You and Tony sat in the van. Tony was impatiently drumming his fingers on the wheel. Steve stood outside with the others as they moved the car, watching the surrounding with a tenseness in his muscles that indicated he was ready to draw his gun at the slightest movement in the woods. 

The silence was heavy and muggy. Your gaze was hazy as you stared blankly. It felt like Tony wanted to say something to you, but you didn’t prompt him to. You turned your head and stared at the forest. 

Suddenly, amongst the greenery, you saw a sliver of blue through the tree and Peter’s hoodie flashed before your eyes. Before you could stop yourself, you were out of the van and racing toward it. You ignored the shouts of the group as you hopped over the railing. The only thing on your mind was blue. 

You reached the blue and stopped. It was a blue jacket and you pulled it off the branch it was stuck to. Feeling it in your hands, you knew; it was Peter’s. There was a blood stain on it and your heart leaped to your throat. Steve and the others arrived behind you. Looking further into the forest with ringing ears, you noticed Peter’s bag, torn and opened with fresh blood splattered across it. 

You stumbled towards it and fell to your knees to rummage through it. There was nothing in it but some supplies you assumed they found at the neighborhood. 

“(Name), it’s not safe to be in the woods right now. We should get back to the cars.” 

You stumbled forward with the backpack and jacket in hand forgetting the group until you looked down. On the ground with the dead leaves and sticks was dried blood. 

“They went this way,” you said. 

“Why would they? Your town is a straight shot North,” Sam said. 

“Nah, these leaves have been completely trampled,” Clint sided with you. 

“So they just turned east? What for?” Steve asked, stepping beside you. 

“A lot more than just two people came through here.” Clint kneeled to the ground and poked at the leaves. 

“So they must've been cut off by a herd that came through,” Sam concluded. 

You stepped further into the woods, being drawn in. You wanted to follow the trail of blood. You needed to. You head back to the van to get your bag, but Steve caught up to you on the street and stopped you. 

“Wait, wait. We have to talk about this and think this through,” he said. 

“Just let her go, Rogers. She doesn't want to be here. She's got a family and they're not joining us. No need to drag us off in the total opposite direction we need to go,” Tony said, coming from the woods, “Remember, we're in danger. We gotta get as far from the east coast as possible.” 

You ripped your arm from Steve’s grip and grabbed your bag. You hopped over the railing when Steve called after you. 

“Wait! We’ll go with you.”

“What?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Uh, no. Bad idea, Rogers.” 

You turned to Steve. 

“I can do this on my own. Thanks for all your help, but I've got it from here.” 

You turned back to head into the woods and heard the opening and closing of the van door. 

“A herd came through here after your family. If you come across the same heard you won't stand a chance,” Steve said, sidling up next to you with his bag on his shoulders. 

“Steve! You can't just leave us,” yelled Tony furiously. “Rogers!” 

“Steve, you can't split us up like this. What are you doing?” Natasha stepped forward with a calmer, more affectionate tone of voice. 

“That's her family, Nat,” was all Steve said in reply. 

There was a moment of silence where you wanted to pull away and head after Peter. Tony glared at Steve and you (but mostly Steve) but you could see the underlying desperation in his gaze gore Steve to stay. 

“Honestly, Steve,” you started, “stay. I'll be fine on my own. It's been the three of us for a long time. I know how to handle myself when I'm outnumbered.” 

Steve’s blue eyes held a swelling of sympathy and heartache as he gazed at you. You could tell he was considering staying, but he blinked and his gaze was filled with solid finality. 

“We can't leave her on her own, Tony. It's not the right thing to do.” 

“It's the fucking apocalypse, Rogers! It doesn't matter what's right or wrong anymore. The only thing that matters is sticking together and surviving! If your dear buddy-ol’-pal was here, he'd tell you the same god damn thing!” 

Tony's chest heaved and the sweat on his forehead glistened in the sun. 

“We've been together for four years--no. More than that. Don't tear this apart for a woman who’s perfectly capable of surviving on her own,” he said. 

Tony’s outburst seemed to have the opposite effect on Steve, however. The way Steve’s jaw set told you everything. Steve was going with you, with or without his group. It made your stomach turn uncomfortably. 

Tony opened his mouth to fight back, but a walker roamed from between the cars on the road and all eyes were on it as it stumbled. Everyone was rooted to the spot, just watching the walker. The tense air held you all still. Finally, as it neared Tony, he pulled the bowie knife from its holster and drove it through the base of the walker’s skull, effectively splattering blood on the van when he pulled it out. 

Tony turned to Steve with a new yet controlled rage in his brown eyes. 

“Fine.” He flicked the blood off his knife and holstered it. “We’ll go with you and the chick. But when this all ends,” he said, grabbing his bag from the van and slamming the door, “terribly, you bet your ass I’ll be the first to say I told you so.” 

More walkers started to emerge from the woods opposite the highway as the others gathered their things from the cars. Their angered and disappointed faces made you keep a little distance from them as you all ventured into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!!


	9. Snow Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Let me know what you think!

You had followed the blood trail with an increasing amount of worry and tried your hardest to ignore the brooding members of your new group behind you.

Steve walked just behind you and the others walked well behind him, occasionally muttering their disdain for venturing into the woods instead of staying on the road and sticking to the plan.

The blood trail was black, which lead you to believe it was undead blood rather than Peter’s. Steve helpfully carried Peter’s backpack over his while you stuffed his jacket in yours. The blood trail stopped a bit ago, to your relief; all that was left to follow was trampled leaves.

The sun was beginning to fall as you trekked along. The autumn months were arriving so the nights were getting colder. Without the van or car, you’d have to sleep out in the cold woods.

You slowed to a stop and turned to Steve whose blue eyes shined with inner turmoil. You looked down and then surveyed your surroundings. There was just trees, trees, and more trees.

“We should stop and set up camp for the night,” you said as the others stopped around you. You felt uncomfortable with all their eyes on you. You felt judged and partially hated. You especially didn’t like calling the shots in a group that isn’t yours.

Steve nodded. Tony shook his head.

“We can’t just sleep in the woods. We light a fire and it’s gonna draw every living and nonliving creature our way,” he stated, crossing his arms.

“It’s getting dark, Tony, and cold. No point to keep on going. We need to rest anyway,” Steve said.

“Tony has a point, Steve. Fire’s gonna draw a lot of attention. Plus, we’re sitting ducks out here. There’s no cover, no vantage point, no nothing,” Sam interjected.

“We’ll have someone on watch.”

“A herd came through here earlier today. A fire will only draw them back. They can’t have gotten that far,” Clint said.

“Fine, then we don’t light a fire.”

“Steve,” Natasha interrupted gently, “it’s too cold to not light a fire.” She paused. “We’re in a tough situation.”

You felt the words ‘that you got us in’ were on the tip of her tongue.

“We should’ve stayed with the van. Should’ve never gone with her,” Tony commented, gesturing to you. Steve sighed.

“I’m not gonna apologize for doing the right thing.”

“It wasn’t the right thing,” Tony argued.

“Look, we can go a little further and hope that we somehow find a house or a shelter of some sort or we can set up camp right here for the night and hope for the best,” Steve responded.

“Finding a house will be impossible! We should just go back to the van--”

“It’ll be just as dangerous to walk in the dark back to the highway as it would to walk further till we find a house.”

“Uh, no. Wrong. False. Incorrect--”

You started digging in the dirt with a stick. Clint gathered other sticks and leaves and then dug with you.

“We’re camping here for the night,” he said as he dug. Once the hole was deep enough, you placed the leaves and sticks in it. Clint pulled lighter fluid from his bag and poured some in the pit you dug.

“Haven’t seen that stuff in a long time,” you mentioned. You pulled two cans of refried beans from your bag and handed them to Clint to cook.

“We’re never going to agree where to go,” you shrugged at Sam’s stare. “We’ll need people on watch.”

“But the herd--” Tony started.

“I think we can handle it, Tony.” You took your bag off your shoulders as you got comfortable in front of the fire.

“We should eat first,” you said and sat in front of the fire.

You all ate in mostly silence. Clint and Natasha murmured to each other as they huddled closer to the fire. Her red hair glimmered like blood in the fire light. You tried to wipe the thought of blood from your mind. Peter was fine. He had to be. Bucky was with him.

“You should eat,” Steve quietly said to you. You looked down at the barely touched bowl of refried beans in your hands and shrugged.

“Not all that hungry.”

“You know, we’re gonna find them, right? Your family.”

Steve’s naively optimistic attitude to your situation was beginning to get on your nerves, but you tried not to lash out. He was, after all, helping you.  

You passed your bowl to Clint beside you and stood, dusting dirt from your back side. Grabbing your bag, you sat down at the base of a tree and pulled out Peter’s jacket. It was the only thing you had to use as a blanket. You tried to ignore the pitying stare from Steve and Tony's eye roll.

Natasha stood and said, “I'll take first watch.”

And you fell asleep pretty soon after that with only Peter and gunmetal blue eyes on your mind.

 

“Peter.”

“Peter.”

“Oh, Petey, my dearest Petey.”

The voice was soft and teasing. Peter shut his eyes tightly and groaned, rolling onto his side to get away from the voice. Thin hands inched their way over his ribs and he knew what was coming next. He smiled before the hands even started tickling him.

The fingers dug into his side teasingly and he jerked to get away from them.

“Okay! Okay! Stop!” He laughed. “I'm up! I'm up! Stop it! Please!”

Peter rolled over to face his assailant and was met with bright eyes and pearly white teeth shining in the dark of his room.

“Good morning, Pete,” she greeted quietly.

“What time is it,” he asked with tiredly furrowed brows.

“Like 3 a.m.”

“What!” He blanched. “Why'd you wake me up so early? I have school in, like, three hours!”

“C’mere. I wanna show you something,” she said, gently tugging him out of bed.

“(Name),” he protested, but she dragged him out of his room and down the hall. “(Name).”

She pulled him into the living room and to the window.

“(Name), I have school in-”

(Name) pulled the curtains back and Peter stopped mid-sentence. Snow drifted down heavily on the ground outside. The streets melded into the yards in thick white sheets. The gray sky encased the outside world in orange from the street lights.

Snow sprinkled down on the rose bushes below the window like powdered sugar. The cars in the driveways were slowly buried, becoming slight bumps in the sea of white.

“I don't think you're gonna have school today, Petey,” came (Name)’s voice and he could hear the smile in it.

He turned to her to see her grinning at him.

“It's snowing!” He exclaimed excitedly and she shushed him with a finger over her lips.

“Bucky’s still sleeping,” she said.

“Oh,” he murmured. They faced the window again and watched the snow falling. Peter’s toes started tingling with cold and they both felt fuzzy inside.

“We should wake him up with a snowball,” he said.

“Yeah, let's go.”

 

“Peter, come on, buddy, you gotta stay awake.”

A cold wet rag was dragged across Peter’s forehead and a hand gently patted his cheeks.

“Peter, wake up. You have to wake up, kid.”

The voice was getting more desperate. Peter felt too hot. He couldn't open his eyes, didn't want to.

“Peter, _please._ You have to stay awake.”

Water splashed and more cold water was patted onto his face.

“Peter! Kid, wake up!”

A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him roughly. He groaned.

The hand let him go suddenly and silence fell. He groaned again.

“W-where are we?” He croaked, opening his reddened eyes.

He was on the floor of a boarded up room, the only light radiating from a flashlight on the floor. His eyes landed on Bucky who sat beside him, leaning away from him.

Relief spread through Bucky’s face as he met Peter's eyes and he moved his hand away from the knife on his belt.

“Where are we?” he repeated, more awake. “Ow.” He looked down at his ankle to see it swollen, bloodied, and wrapped tightly in a torn shirt. 

“Wa-was I--”

“No. You’re fine,” Bucky interrupted quickly. “You’re fine. Just fucked up your ankle is all. Tripped. You’re fine, kid.”

“But, the blood--”

“You’re _fine._ ”

A tense pause filled the run down room with aching silence.

“Where are we?” Peter asked again, subdued and hurting.

“An abandoned apartment building. We’re back in the city,” Bucky sighed, running his hand through his greasy hair. He’d pull it back if he could. (Name) used to pull it back for him.

“The herd?”

“Still out there. I don’t know what’s dragging them back to the city. There’s nothing left here,” he said.

“Obviously there is,” Peter countered and coughed. Bucky helped him drink some of what little water they had left. “When can we leave?”

“I don’t know. You’re hurt, the herd’s on the street, I only have one arm.” Bucky shook his head and sighed heavily. “We’re stuck. Again.”

“We have to get back home. (Name) will be waiting for us.” Peter started to get up.

“No,” Bucky gently pushed him back down. “You can’t walk, kid. Just--just...relax. There’s nothing we can do now.”

Another heavy silence fell and Peter's aching body started to get tired again.

“I had a dream,” he started, his eyes drooping. “That we lived in the...in the old world. And it was....it was snowing.”

Peter fell into a sweaty sleep. Bucky gently placed the back of his hand on his forehead. He had a nasty fever. Bucky sat next to Peter after placing his jacket under his head and let his own head hit the wall behind him. Listening to the muffled moaning of the undead outside, he shut his eyes.

“This sucks.”

 


	10. South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was super motivated this weekend about writing and that's probably all due to this wonderful person who offered to edit my chapters. Shout out to Sydney aka Squid for editing this and giving me ideas and making this chapter significantly better than it was. So yall give Squid some love in the comments! But as usual, I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!!!

“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” Natasha said with her head tilted up to the sky. Dark clouds flooded the sky ominously, blocking the sunlight. 

“We’re getting closer to the city. We should be able to find some cover soon,” Steve said. 

You followed the group a few steps behind while Steve lead the way and Tony lingered behind you. You hadn’t seen any sign of Peter or Bucky since finding Peter’s jacket, but the herd’s trail was still evident. With your hand wrapped tightly around your compass, you gnawed the inside of your cheek in worry. 

A branch snapped above you and your head snapped up to look. A canary flew from the tree and through the woods; its yellow feathers reminiscent of another life. Tony caught up to you as you slowed to watch the bird. 

“Sorry,” you excused yourself as you stepped out of his way and walked behind him. 

Looking back up at the boughs you saw no sign of the bird. You caught up to the group and, after walking for another fifteen minutes, you found the edge of the forest. However,  instead of the forest flowing straight into the city, there was a huge drop-off, a cliff, essentially. The mountain you stood on towered over the city and the view opened old wounds. 

The city sat vacant, abandoned, and utterly...silent. The skyline was decayed and the life that used to thrive in the streets was gone. The lack of car horns, dogs barking, and the sound of human life was agonizing and gazing at the dead city felt like looking at humanity’s gravestone. The ever darkening sky reminded you that you just barely missed joining the graveyard.  

“Several walkers fell over the edge, but most of them followed this path down the mountain. Looks like they’re still head toward the city,” Clint said and your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.  

“That’s got to be where your family went,” Steve said to you and you nodded distractedly. “Come on,” Steve continued, “We shouldn’t waste any more time.” 

The others started down the path while you stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the desolation. The empty city left a chasm in your chest.

Tony’s sudden appearance beside you garnered your attention.   

He looked up at the group to judge the distance between yourselves and them, then he turned to you abruptly. 

“You wanna know something?” he asked nonchalantly. You raised your eyebrows. “I don’t trust you. I think you’re hiding something.” 

“Yeah, it’s  kinda obvious you don’t,” you said. “But I’m not hiding anything.” 

“ Oh! Well  if you say so, problem solved ! ” he said snarkily. You snorted exasperatedly. 

“I didn’t ask for your help. You could’ve left me to be eaten by that herd and the mutant,” you replied. 

“I wanted to. We don’t need  any more people regardless of the bad guys,” he said. Tony inched closer to you and his warm breath wafted across your face. He lowered his voice  while he spoke.

“All that I’ve done since the world went to shit was protect this group to the  _ best _ of my abilities. I will not let  _ you _ ruin that.” 

There was a mad anxiety in his eyes and a seriousness i n his voice that reminded you of yourself. He cared about his group, his family,  just as much as you cared about Peter. 

But you saw a flicker of something else, too--insecurity. And  then it all made sense to you. Tony Stark felt like he need ed his group more than they need ed him. He was a broken man. 

_ I know the feeling, _ you thought. You smiled gently at Tony. 

“I know you won’t. I promise if things go south between here and my family, I’ll be the first to go,” you said. 

After a moment of locked gazes, he nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but a cry sounded through the woods behind you. You both stared  back into the trees, questioning if what you  had heard was human. 

“Help! Help me!” A child’s voice was almost drowned out by the  heavy wind in the leaves, but you heard it, you both heard it. You and Tony took off together back into the forest towards the continuing cry. 

Low branches hung in your way as you ran, tearing into your clothes. You pulled your knife from your belt as the cries got louder and Tony sped past you. You raced into a clearing that held  about  ten walkers and a boy younger than Peter. The undead were closing in on him and Tony charged into the clearing, driving his blade into the nearest walker’s skull. 

You followed after him and kicked the back of a walker’s knees. It collapsed and you grabbed its greasy hair, pulled its head back and stabbed it in the eye socket. 

“No! Please!” the boy screamed. A walker fell on top of him and started snapping at his face, the clacking of its teeth loud enough for you to hear. The boy’s arms shook as he tried to hold up his attacker.

Tony dodged the next walker and went straight to the boy while you made quick work of the rest of the undead in the clearing. You pulled your knife from the forehead of a walker in time to see Tony pull the walker off of the boy and stomp its face in.  

Tony turned to the boy, both trying to  catch  their breath. The boy was small , dirty, and his sandy brown hair curled over his ears like Peter’s. Bright blue eyes stared up at Tony and then glanced at you and then the undead on the ground. He was wearing a red jacket that was too big for him and grass stains covered his knees. 

“You alright, kid?” Tony asked. The boy nodded slowly. “You bit?” He shook his head. You raised your brows when you and Tony shared a glance. “What’s your name?” 

“Harley,” came his small voice.

“Where’re your parents, kid?” 

Before Harley could answer, a moan came from behind him and another walker stumbled into the clearing. Tony glanced at you and you started for it, pulling your knife out of its holster again. Pushing the walker to the ground, you grabbed the used-to-be woman by her hair and drove your knife through the roof of its mouth. You grimaced as you wiped the  brackish blood off on the walker’s sweater. 

“Th-they’re gone,” Harley finally said from where he still laid on the ground, propped up on his elbows. Tony inhaled deeply and sighed heavily. He pivoted and reached a hand out to Harley. 

“Come on, get up,” Tony said and Harley grabbed his hand, pulling himself up off the ground. 

“Thank you,” Harley replied. “Do you have any food? Or water?” 

You watched as Tony pulled a water bottle and a bruised apple from his bag and handed it to Harley, who immediately drank half the water. 

“Okay, okay, slow down. We don’t have a lot of that,” Tony  cautioned  and Harley apologized before biting into the apple. 

The wind was picking up and dark clouds stained the sky like  spilled ink. With a crack of thunder, the clouds opened up and rain started to come down. You pulled up your hood and then you walked over and pulled Harley’s red hood over his head for him. 

“We need to head back to the group, Tony. They’re probably looking for us now,” you said as the rain fell harder. Rain made Tony’s hair impossibly darker and it stuck to his forehead because he had no jacket. He scratched his beard and nodded. 

“Keep the bottle open, kid. The rain will refill it,” Tony commented with a softened gaze and Harley lifted the open bottle higher in the air. 

Thunder shook the sky and the rain fell  even harder, completely drenching the three of you. Tony began to shiver and you gestured for him to head to the trees. The three of you jogged out of the overgrown clearing and through the woods back to the cliff edge. 

The rain and thunder made it hard to hear  or  see. You kept your hand on Harley’s back as you ran behind him to keep him in line between you and Tony. The winds’ force ripped branches off trees and blew rain into your eyes. The leaf-covered ground was getting muddier and more slippery. 

But it wasn’t the wet leaves and mud that made you fall to the ground as you reached the cliff edge. 

As you, Tony, and Harley burst through the trees, a heavy force knocked you to the ground, splashing mud and rocks across your face. You heard Harley scream as you struggled with the weight on top of your back, but you instantly realized an undead had followed you from the clearing and tackled you. It wasn’t a walker, though; it was a runner. You hadn’t heard it chasing you because of the storm. 

Your head was almost over the edge of the cliff and you were on your stomach, unable to fight the thing about to eat you. Thankfully, your backpack saved you from being immediately torn into. Elbowing the decomposing face, you were able to get it off you long enough to flip onto your back before it was back on you again. 

You held onto its shoulders to keep its jaws away from you, so you couldn’t reach your knife or gun. The undead man’s hands dug into your arms and you were thankful your jacket covered your skin because a rough protrusion was stabbing into your stomach. Large raindrops fell into your eyes, blurring your vision. 

Its wet skin caused your hand to slip from its bare shoulder and it fell into your neck. Harley’s scream rang in your head. You felt the ghost of teeth on flesh before Tony came to your aid, kicking the thing off you, and pulled you up quickly. 

The runner stood up again with and you could see a sharpened branch protruding from its lower abdomen, the sharp end facing you. A lightning flash enveloped the sky in complete whiteness, blinding you and Tony. When you could see again, the runner was charging towards you and you had just enough time to grab the branch to hold him away from you. 

But its long arms smacked you across the head and knocked you off balance, causing you to let go. It took its chance to charge you again and you just barely missed being impaled by the branch, but you did not miss tumbling over the edge of the cliff. 

However, to your utter relief and amazement, Tony grabbed hold of your wrist before you fell to your death. The runner still clung to your waist and the rain still poured. Your (e/c) eyes caught a glimpse of the rocky bottom of the cliff and the undead that already met their final demise there. 

The only thing stopping the walker tearing into you was your arm  pushing back against its throat. It knew if it let go of you, it would fall, but you knew that if you moved your arm, you’d get bit before you’d ever reach your knife. You looked at the black beady eyes of the runner, the ground tens of feet below, and up at Tony, whose wide brown eyes filled with panic and desperation then locked with yours. 

It took both of Tony’s hands to hold onto you, but as you slid from his grasp all he had to hold onto was your hand. With imminent death approaching, you could only think about the dead city behind you and how you were certain Peter and Bucky were there. A memory from three weeks ago popped into your head. 

It was Peter sitting next to Bucky, his new one armed buddy, on the couch in the library. The fire burned behind them and you remember the warmth it had spread throughout the room. You can hear Peter’s voice, boyish and excited; hear him telling Bucky about all the possible ways to make a prosthetic arm for him. 

“(Name!)” Tony’s voice and the pounding thunder ripped you away from the memory far too quickly. 

You realized you were slipping even further from Tony’s grasp. Your heart slowed down as you accepted your death. You wondered how long you would be able to see Tony’s face before the distance blurred him from view or you hit the ground. 

Suddenly, Harley came up from behind Tony, grabbed the knife from his holster, and fell onto his stomach next to Tony. Reaching as far as he could, he jammed the knife into the top of the runner’s head and it instantly loosened its hold on you and fell, racing the rain to the rocky ground below. 

With the lack of weight, Tony was able to pull you up and when he did, you collapsed side-by-side in the mud. You placed your hand over the sore spot on your abdomen and stared up at the stormy sky, blinking when rain fell into your eyes. You both breathed heavily and Harley stood over you, waiting for you and Tony to regain strength. 

You turned your head to the side to face Tony. He turned to meet your gaze. 

“So, uh, does this count as things going south?” 

He stared at you and your small, tired smile before abruptly erupting into laughter. You started to laugh too, and soon the both of you were laughing hysterically, rain rolling over your skin and your bodies sinking into the mud. Harley stood awkwardly to the side wondering if you two were mental and in need of medication. 

  
  



	11. Petrichor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's kinda boring. Sorry, but the next chapter will be very exciting!! Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

“Okay. I think we’re lost,” you grunted, pulling your foot free from the fresh mud.

After your laughing fits had ended, you headed down the mountain hoping to find the group, but the path became indiscernible along the way. The rain had stopped, but the three of you were still drenched and covered in mud. Tony marched ahead of you, arms swinging, and Harley stumbled along behind you.

“No, we’re not. We’re just…taking a detour,” Tony responded. You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Alright, sure, fine, Tony. But can we not take your ‘detour’ because we kind of have a group to get back to.”

“I’m working on it!”

“Maybe _you_ shouldn’t, city boy. Let _me_ take the lead, yeah? Or--”

“Or you can just shut up.”

You opened your mouth to argue back but Harley’s quiet voice interrupted.

“Wait, so...are you guys married or something?”

You and Tony spun around with wide eyes. Harley stopped, looking up at the both of you. Tony and you glanced at each other.

“Wha-w-we...we...are…” you stumbled over your words.

“W-we...aren’t….we are _not_ married,” Tony stuttered.

“No,” you shook your head vigorously. “No, we are absolutely not.”

“Do you see a ring on either of our fingers?” Tony held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers, sparing a quick glance down at your own left hand.

“Sorry,” Harley murmured, hanging his head. You ruffled his hair and threw your arm over his shoulder, dragging him along.

“Hey, why don’t we play a game,” you asked. He nodded. “It’s called I Spy. You know how to play, right?”

“It’s pretty straight forward.” he said.

“Okay, you go first,” you commanded and he hummed in thought. The wet forest around you was dull and even though the rain had stopped, the sun was still hiding behind clouds.

“I spy with my little eye...an asshole up ahead,” Harley stated. You snorted and high-fived him, while Tony turned around with narrowed eyes.

“You know what I spy with my little eye?” Tony started, “An annoying pain in my ass.”

“Tony!”

“Your turn,” they said simultaneously. You crossed your arms in thought.

“I spy with my little eye...the sun going down. Can we just hurry and find the group, Tony?” You cocked your hip to the side and raised a brow. Tony rolled his eyes and, cursing under his breath, brushed past you.

Tony stalked ahead quickly, leaving you and Harley struggling to keep up. The sky was darkening and neither of you had any food for the night, let alone Harley’s added appetite. The wet sticks beneath your feet bent pliantly without snapping and you got lost within your own thoughts.

Thinking about Peter and Bucky made your chest tighten like a compressed spring. Losing them and now  Steve and the rest of the group--you wanted bang your head against a tree. The dark clouds swirled above, now free of the weight of the rain, but they still hid the only light left, and it chilled you.

Shivering, you looked ahead to Tony and Harley had caught up and were walking in sync. They were talking; Tony was reluctant but compliant while Harley asked questions inquisitively. You hoped they were bonding. You hoped that when you found Peter and Bucky that Harley would stay safe with Tony and Steve. Losing him, you couldn’t handle that --not such a young kid.

Sadly, night was coming and you still hadn’t found anyone and there was still no sign of the path you were meant to be on. Looking at Tony and Harley, you wondered--for just a moment--if you could make a new family with them. If you never found Steve or Peter or Bucky, would you be able to forget them? Move on, and be content with the two in front of you?

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

“Hey, look!” Harley shouted, pointing at the sky. You and Tony followed his gaze and spotted a plume of smoke rising in the sky.

“Do you think that’s the group?” you asked as you stood next to Tony. He shrugged, eyes still glued to the smoke rising into the air. “It doesn’t look that far. Looks like it might be at the bottom of the mountain.”

Harley and you stared at Tony waiting for a response.  
“That’s gonna draw every undead for miles.”

“Oh god, not this again,” you sighed.

“I’m just saying. We’ll check it out, but carefully... and if it’s not them--”

“It’s them. It’s gotta be.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at you before nodding.

“Okay, well, then let’s go.”

And you all marched in the direction of the smoke. Your fingers toyed with your compass-locket for a moment when you gasped.

“Oh my God. I have a compass,” you said.

“So?” Tony responded, walking ahead.

“The city is west of the mountain! Why didn’t I think of that?” you mumbled and you popped open the compass.

“Probably because you were literally just hanging over the edge of a cliff while simultaneously trying to _not_ be eaten alive,” Harley added blandly. Tony snorted approvingly and Harley sped up to walk beside him.

“The smoke...it’s coming from the west…”

“So, we’re headed in the right direction? Good to know,” Tony snarkily remarked and you narrowed your eyes dangerously at the back of his head.

“Your attitude is _going_ be the death of me,” you proclaimed as you caught up to them. The rising smoke was getting closer and the sun was sinking even closer to the horizon.

“With the living dead roaming around eating people, bad guys with super egos and the gun power to boost them, and with everything that _just_ happened to you less than an _hour_ ago, and it’s my attitude that gets the job done?” Tony laughed.

“You should be proud, sir,” Harley commented, causing Tony to laugh harder. A pleased smile spread across his small cheeks as he looked up at Tony who was very close to collapsing in glee.

“You’re damn right, kid!”

“Y’all are mean,” you pouted. You weren’t exactly used to _not_ being in control. Bucky was new to your group; he had no place to tease you or make you angry. Peter was essentially your adopted son, so he had to listen to you. This _certainly_ was a new dynamic that you hoped to god you wouldn’t have to get used to.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be so sensitive,” Tony teased, elbowing your side. You still continued to feign hurt feelings. You crossed your arms and jerked your head to the side, hiding your face from view.

“I spy with my little eye...a big baby,” Harley said and you and Tony stared at him incredulously. Tony burst into laughter again and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

“I spy with my little eye...a little boy trying to suck up to the rich guy,” you retorted playfully. Harley glanced at Tony, his ears reddening. “Yeah, I know you know who he is. Everyone who didn’t live under a rock knows who he is, even you kids.”

Tony smirked proudly between the both of you and walked forward with his shoulders back.

“Well, he likes me more than he likes you,” Harley bickered. You tried to be offended, but a grin wormed its way onto your face.

“You know what, kid,” you started and reached around Tony to tickle Harley’s side. He giggled and jerked away from you.

Before either of you knew it, you were both running circles around Tony as you tried to tickle Harley into oblivion. It wasn’t exactly “in character” for either of you, but the playful teasing that infected your small entourage made you both nostalgic. It reminded you of Peter when he was small, just a few years ago, when his parents were still around and he didn’t have to worry about survival. Perhaps, for Harley, you felt like a mother he lost and maybe he just wanted a family again.

Regardless, all three of you were laughing again, like you had in the rain, and for just a second, the thought of making a new family with them didn’t seem that impossible after all.

 

****

 

“Wow,” Peter voiced softly from behind Bucky, “It rained pretty hard.”  

Bucky sat near the edge of an abandoned building where the walls had collapsed and opened up to the outside. He had been collecting water from the rain while Peter slept in one of the back rooms down the hall. Peter limped over and struggled to sit down next to him. Bucky held his elbow as he slowly settled down, his legs swinging over the edge of the broken wall.

The view in front of them was a city in ruins. Most of the buildings had also collapsed and vines climbed the walls and broke through the windows, invading the interiors. Tall grass and small saplings forced their way through the cracked concrete streets. The same vines that claimed the buildings swung down from the  broken street lights. The rain water fueled the plant life that overtook the streets, multiplying their growth.

After thousands of years of humans destroying the earth with their modern technology and urbanism, nature was taking back what is rightfully its own. It was, in its own way, beautiful. Bucky was almost at ease with the sight. He saw hope in the life thriving in the vacant city. The only color against the grays and blacks of the decomposing city were the green leaves and the multi-colored wild flowers growing in the streets.

Although the storm clouds still lingered and danced in the sky, birds chirped quietly, flapping from wire to wire. A hole in the corner of the building’s roof across from them held a bird’s nest and Bucky could barely see eggs inside. A yellow canary flew into the hole with sticks in its beak and not long after, it flew out again, landing on a piece of wood sticking out from the side of their building.

Its head jerked from side to side, analyzing its surroundings. It ruffled its wings and took off into flight, a single yellow feather drifting to the ground. Bucky’s eyes followed its twirling path down to a patch of wild daisies below.

The sun behind the clouds was falling and what little light it had brought was dissipating. The groans from the undead that littered the street seem to wane with the sunlight. The undead seemed harmless as they stumbled around aimlessly, bumping into one another. Many of the rotters slowed to a stop or fell to the ground as if they were just human enough to pass out from exhaustion. They were all drenched and looked as if they had jumped into a pool for fun.

Raindrops fell into puddles on the ground around them and into the bottle of water beside Bucky. Water from the roof drained down the rusty gutter and through the collapsing ceiling, drops occasionally rolling down Bucky’s arm and neck. The beads of water washed away dirt and sweat and he felt only slightly refreshed because of it.  

The chilly aftermath of the storm made Peter shiver and he tucked his bare arms into his shirt.

“You shouldn’t be up,” Bucky mumbled.

“My ankle’s fine,” Peter responded, yawning.

“It’s infected. You have a fever. Go back to bed.”

“I’ll be fine. When can we leave? We have to find (Name).”

Bucky didn’t respond and they fell into silence. Although neither of them said anything, they both knew what the other was thinking. The odds of them ever finding (Name) alive again was close to nothing. Bucky’s blood ran like ice as he thought about Steve and all that he had lost with them, but his chest seemed to tighten achingly when he thought of (Name).

“Three weeks,” he whispered and Peter looked at him confusedly. “I’ve only known you for three weeks.”

“Almost a month,” Peter nodded and paused. “You never told us about your group or what happened to you before your arm.”

Bucky shook his head and said, “Doesn't matter now.”

Peter didn’t push it, to Bucky’s relief. They gazed at the dead city in silence. A sliver of the sky was clear behind the city’s skyline. Golden yellows and coral pinks burned in the sky, but the thick clouds buried the sun above it.

In the alleyway below them, half a rotter laid crushed and immobile under the building’s debris. Its hand reached out for a small rabbit a few feet away. The rabbit’s little beady eyes watched the rotter for a moment before scurrying off into the tall grass.

Bucky’s blue eyes watched the rotter struggle to free itself to go after the rabbit when he felt Peter’s head fall onto his shoulder. Peter had fallen asleep and he noticed the cold sweat on his forehead.

Cursing lightly, Bucky tried to maneuver Peter around so he wasn’t hanging over the edge and get him back to the room. The movement caused Peter’s head to fall into his lap and he cursed again, pulling Peter’s legs up and to the side.

Bukcy’s hands froze on Peter as his eyes landed on his face. He looked peaceful and content with fluttering eyelashes and rosy cheeks. With a sigh, Bucky just let him sleep, despite his fever and cold sweat. He just didn’t have it in him to take his sleep from him, too.

 


	12. Fundamentals of Physics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm infinitely sorry this took so long but college is very time consuming. But hey this chapter is super long! This chapter was written in parts across the past couple of months soooo not all that great or consistent in quality at least to me. Still, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

The plume of smoke rising in the sky led you back to Steve and the group. When you had arrived everyone eagerly questioned you and Tony. It wasn’t until they noticed Harley hiding behind Tony that they calmed down long enough to feed you three. 

You spent the night on the wet, muddy ground with Tony at the base of the tree next to you with Harley curled up beside him. Steve and the rest seemed slightly unsure of the kid. The goal was to find your family and move on; having a kid in the picture changes things. Having him around meant you would all have to decide what to do with him and which group he goes with when and if you found your family again. It wasn’t going to be easy, seeing as he quite liked you and Tony both. 

Nobody asked you or Tony to keep watch through the night, so it was the first time since you had been wounded that you got a full night’s sleep; absolutely no nightmares or wandering thoughts to keep you up. You were just too exhausted and you doubted if anyone asked you to keep watch you could even wake up to answer. 

The next morning, Steve woke you with a plate of thin pieces of white meat. Harley and Tony were already awake digging into their own meals. Two squirrels were tied to the stick that twirled above the fire. Your tired eyes drew back to the plate held in front of you and you took it as you caught a whiff of the smoky meat. 

“Clint got them this morning. They’re not eggs and bacon, but it’ll do.” Steve said as you sat up.

The smell made your mouth water and your stomach growled loudly, causing Harley to giggle. You stuck your tongue out at him before stuffing your face. You hadn’t realized that you didn’t eat anything yesterday until now, so it didn’t take long for the food on your plate to disappear. Although the others wanted to eat, too, they were almost too afraid to because how aggressively you and Tony ate the majority of the breakfast squirrels.

“So,” Sam started while Clint and Steve cleaned up, “We found the city. It’s about a 10-15 minute walk that way.” He pointed behind him with his thumb. “But there’s a slight problem.” You and Tony sighed simultaneously, gathering your gear. 

“The herd we tracked that followed your family? Yeah, they’re just kind of lingering in the street. We can’t go through them. We’ll have to go around,” Sam explained as you bent down to tie Harley’s tattered shoe. You ruffled his hair when you stood and he wandered over to Tony’s side. 

“How many are there?” you asked. 

“Too many to fight our way through,” Natasha replied. “Besides, we don’t know how many are in the city. If we start a fight we might just draw every undead in the city right to us.” she said, tossing her short hair into a ponytail.  
You didn’t say anything while everyone set off. The image of Peter and Bucky amongst the herd, stumbling and moaning, flashed inside your head and your foot got caught on a branch, almost sending you to the ground. Vigorously shaking your head, you forged on, gradually falling behind. 

“Hey,” Tony murmured, startling you. Harley wandered a few feet ahead, following the group, but out of hearing range. You looked up at Tony expectantly. 

“You’re not really married, are you?” 

“What makes you say that?” you countered and tried your best to act relaxed, staring ahead. 

“You don’t wear a ring,” he said while he, too, kept his gaze forward. You shrugged. 

“Lost it near the beginning. I cried for days,” you lied. 

“Sure you did.” came his nonchalant response. The two of you fell into a forcibly comfortable silence. 

“Harley seems to really have taken a liking to you,” you tried. 

“Is there a kid in the picture? Or was that a lie too?” he questioned. You turned to him now, jaw clenched, and kept your eyes level with his. 

“Yes, there’s a kid and regardless if I’m married or not, they’re family. My family,” you stated and you both stopped. “I’m sure you can understand that.”

He stared at you for a moment and it became hard to read the emotion in his eyes. The longer the silence drew on the more tense you got, but both of you refused to break eye contact. Finally, Tony nodded. 

“Okay,” he said and turned to catch up to the group, but he stopped. “You owe me a knife, by the way,” he added, then headed back to the group. 

You sighed and stared up at the sky. The sun was peeking through the leaves and a slight breeze danced through your (h/c) hair. With your head down, you followed him. 

Catching up to the group, you tossed your arm over Harley’s shoulders startling him. You smiled apologetically. 

“So, Harley, I spy with my little eye something... red,” you said and he looked over at Tony who raised his eyebrow. Tentatively, he looked around, almost as if he was embarrassed to play.  
“Her hair?” he gestured to Natasha and you shook your head. “Uh, my jacket?” 

“Nope.” 

“Um…” 

“Pst, kid.” Harley looked up at Tony who pointed to his shoes. 

“Oh, my shoelaces?” 

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Your turn.” 

“Hmm...I spy with my little eye….” Tony leaned down and whispered something in his ear that you couldn’t hear. “Something small.” 

“Okay...a leaf?” He shook his head. “Uh, a bug? My compass? Um...can I get another hint?” 

Tony leaned down again and Harley nodded obediently at his words. 

“I spy something small and slow,” he hinted. You looked around with raised brows and shook your head, confused. 

“Er...you?” you tried. 

“Hey! No!” he shouted and huffed at you. You laughed. 

“Okay, then. I give up. What is it?” you asked. He looked up mischievously at Tony who winked back with a growing smirk. 

“Your brain,” he answered before bursting into a fit of giggles. You blanched, glaring at Tony, and reached over to slap him on the back of his head, but he was laughing too hard to care. 

“You ass!” you yelled and, despite your anger, a grin creeped onto your face. Steve smiled warmly at the three of you over his shoulder, nostalgia swimming in his sky blue eyes.

“Hey, guys. Shh,” called Clint, leading the group. You instantly shielded Harley slightly behind you. “The herd is up ahead,” Clint explained. 

The group quietly creeped up to the edge of the city. There was just enough foliage to hide in and, for a moment, the group stood together staring out into the street. The herd was there in the street, standing around as if waiting for something. The undead wandered aimlessly, bumping into one another. Their moans echoed in the silent city, creating a symphony of hunger and, most likely, death. 

The tall grass sprouting from the concrete rose to their thighs and sudden movements in the grass led you to believe there were some undead hiding in it, too. 

The buildings were boarded up and damaged, looking as if they had been abandoned even before the outbreak. You noticed a runner banging his head against an old apartment building’s door and two walkers lazily clawing the boarded windows. You tilted your head at them with narrowed eyes. Your gut felt heavy as you examined the building while grasping Harley’s hand. 

He looked up at you curiously, then followed your gaze. 

“(Name).” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Why are we trying to get into the city?”

Your eyes met his wide baby blues and you swallowed dryly. You hesitated to answer, glancing at Tony and Steve. 

“My family,” you whispered. “We got separated.”

“That rubble there will provide some cover for us.” Natasha pointed out, moving to stand next to you. The rubble lied behind the abandoned building that continued to tug at the back of your mind. 

Something about that building...was that movement? you thought, eyes widening just a fraction. 

Behind the boarded windows you saw something dark flash across the gaps. You squinted your eyes and gripped Harley’s hand a little tighter. A yellow canary fluttered vigorously from the far side of the building, over your head and into the woods.

“(Name), c’mon. We’re gonna be left behind.” Harley’s little voice called to you. Nodding, you followed after the group, heading to the alley behind the rubble. 

Quietly, one by one, the group creeped their way from the tree line to the alley. Clint went first, silently taking down a walker with one of his arrows as he passed like a hawk swooping in for a kill, and hid behind the rubble. After a moment, he peeked around and gestured the next person forward while shoving the arrow back into the quiver on his back. 

Natasha slid forward next, then Sam, and then Tony. You and Harley prepared to go next, stepping out into the street, but Steve suddenly pulled you back as the closest runner jerked his head in your direction. It started wandering towards you at the sound of rustling leaves. You held your breath and noticed Steve pull his knife, shifting to stand protectively in front of you and the small boy. 

A random pebble came hurdling from behind the rubble and hit one of the abandoned cars in the street causing the runner to turn in that direction. Harley and you took the chance to dash across as quickly as possible. Steve followed closely behind, hunching his large frame. 

Once the group was across, you headed into the small alley made even smaller by the debris of the forgotten buildings. You resisted the urge to go in the apartment building as you passed it. Tearing the boards off the door would make too much noise. 

Ahead, a runner stumbled into the alley and you all hid between the boarded up building surrounded by its debris and its neighbor. Clint readied an arrow in his bow and slid around the corner to take aim. Harley, surprised by the sudden movements, abruptly fell from your grasp, hitting his head against the ground. A walker buried under the rubble latched onto his thin ankle and yanked him down. A yelp escaped his mouth before he could stop it and the nearest of the herd noticed and started to shuffle over in your direction. 

You quickly killed the trapped walker and pulled Harley up as a walker stumbled around the corner to greet you. Rubble made sure it had no easy access to you, but a runner took notice to the suddenly animated walker and charged up the debris, scuttling quickly over it when it caught sight of you all. 

Sam thrust his bowie knife out as it jumped on top of him, thankfully catching the runner’s skull. It fell limply on top of him and Steve kicked the body off him to help him up. An arrow shot past your head and found home in the walker’s skull preventing it from drawing any more attention. 

Waiting for the herd to resettle, you looked over at Harley with wide eyes, searching for an answer to a question you didn’t want to ask, and he shook his head quickly. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Tony breathe in deeply at this. Suddenly, rocks tumbled from above and footsteps sounded from the wall-less building in front of you. Raising her gun, Natasha took aim at whatever had threatened you all from above. 

Your heart leapt into your throat and you struggled to swallow a desperate gasp. It felt like wind swept you off your feet and filled you up inside, making you light enough to blow away. Your wide, (e/c) eyes latched onto the person who stood above you, dancing across his physique with a blossoming of warmth in your chest. 

“Bucky!” Steve gasped quietly, dragging you back to Earth and surprising you. Turning your gaze to Steve, you instantly recognized the same gravity-defying disbelief and relief flood his eyes. You looked back at Bucky who looked even more shocked than you or Steve. He was still the same one-armed hot mess he was when you last saw him, except the bags under his eyes had deepened and there was blood on his shirt. 

Steve was the first to move; he started climbing up the rubble that stood between him and Bucky. He reached up, not sparing a glance or second thought to the herd or anyone else, and urged Bucky to climb down. He looked ready to join him before his eyes found yours and, throwing a brief glance at the herd, turned on his heel, disappearing into the building.  
You placed Harley’s hand in Tony’s and climbed up next to Steve. 

“You guys,” Sam whispered, eyes darting to the herd. Clint had his bow ready to fire and Natasha had her gun aimed steadily at the herd. Tony watched the alleyway with a hard glare. “The herd!” 

You and Steve shared an equally confused glance as you clambered up next to him. Bucky reappeared with a limping boy by his side that you instantly recognized as Peter. Lips parting in an exhale, your eyes teared up, blurring your vision, as Peter beamed at you the same boyishly toothy grin that he gave you when he was only ten. 

Ushering Steve aside, you held your shaking hands up to Peter and Bucky helped lower him down into your arms. Peter’s weight knocked you to your knees but you held onto him, burying your face into his curly tresses. His arms wrapped around you and, as he buried his face in your shoulder, he started to cry. 

“I thought you were dead, that I’d never see you again.” he cried. You shushed him, hyper aware of the herd just to the left of you, and brushed his hair back. 

“C’mon,” you said as Bucky jumped down. You watched Bucky stare at Steve with wide, incredulous eyes. They looked at each other, an air of distant uncertainty between them, before Steve pulled him roughly into an embrace. Bucky’s only arm wrapped tightly around Steve’s broad shoulders, his fingers digging into his shirt. 

A growl and a snap of Clint’s bow drew your attention back to the alley and the approaching herd. 

“We gotta go.” Clint said and a runner sprinted towards you all with a shriek that echoed in the street, drawing every undead to you. “We gotta go! Now!”

Grabbing Peter’s hand you took off down the rubble and as you passed Harley you grabbed his hand, too. Tony, letting go of Harley’s other hand, took aim at the herd that surged over the rubble and into the alley. The sound of their growls, gurgles, and stomping feet shook the ground and urged you to run faster. Too many of them had flooded into the alley to fight; everyone broke into a sprint following after you and the boys. 

Peter’s limp started to slow you down as you neared the alley exit and he fell to the ground with a grimace. Before you could stop to get him up, Bucky hauled him to his feet and dragged him along side him. 

A shout came from behind you and you looked back to see Sam shoved against a wall by a runner that cut through the alley. Natasha sliced the back of its knees as she ran by and it fell back, Sam stomping its face in. 

Harley’s shoelace became undone and you lifted him up into your arms as you turned a corner. You were met with a bus on its side, blocking the only way into the street. There were no other exits; you were trapped between the herd and the wrecked bus. 

Clint rolled right past you and jumped onto the bus, turning back to you. You heaved Harley up and into his arms and turned back for Peter, but Bucky had already helped him climb up. You started to urge Bucky to climb up himself before he grabbed you with his only arm and threw you on the bus, too. 

“Bucky!” Peter leaned down to help him up as Steve leveraged him up. Tony and Steve still stood on the ground as the herd rounded the corner and Sam and Bucky knelt to help them up. A particularly fast runner caught onto Tony’s foot and tugged him back, loosening his grip. Natasha killed it with a single shot, freeing Tony. 

In the matter of seconds it took you all to get on the bus, Clint was already down on the other side killing what little undead left in the street dared come near. Bucky hopped down and helped you and Peter get down. You turned back for Harley and held him in your arms as you grabbed Peter’s hand. Once everyone was down on the ground again, you all took off running again further into the dead city. 

Dodging and weaving through cars and undead, the moans of the herd soon faded. Most were still trapped behind the bus and the few that followed were now a trail of bodies behind you. 

Ahead of you Clint slowed to a stop and immediately doubled over by a car to catch his breath. You placed Harley down on the ground, who watched you with wide eyes, and sat down. Your whole body ached and your lungs burned; you could still hear the herd’s crescendo of moans in your head. Carrying Harley for that long while sprinting was something you would’ve never been able to do in the old world; you could just barely do it in this one. 

“Tie your shoe, Harley.” you wheezed more than commanded. The sun beating down on the concrete burnt your legs through your jeans, but you were too exhausted to care.

Peter suddenly came into view, sitting down in front of you. His eyes were watery and his face was as sweaty as yours. The two of you stared at one another for a moment. A storm of emotions twinkled in his eyes. You saw his relief and joy flash in his eyes like lightning, reflecting your own overwhelming emotions. Your heart pounded thunderously at the sight of him and Bucky in front of you, not dead walking. 

You caught sight of his ankle. Blood stained his torn jeans and you gently peeled the clothing back, apologizing as he winced, to see the wound. 

“I’m okay,” he said softly, “I got my ankle snagged on some sharp metal or something. I don’t really know, but I’m okay.” 

“He had an infection. All I had to give him was ibuprofen,” Bucky explained. “He’s gonna need clean bandages and rest. Running didn’t help it at all.” 

Bucky stood next to Steve whose eyes bounced between the three of you. Despite his broad frame, Bucky looked small and distant, keeping his eyes focused on Peter’s ankle. Steve’s searching eyes turned to you when he couldn’t find any answers. 

“So...uh...this is your family,” he asked with a tentative smile. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, undoing Peter’s bandages. “If I had known you guys knew each other I would have told you.” 

Steve nodded and you started to rewrap Peter’s injury with some clean gauze you had in your bag. 

“Oh, I believe this is yours,” you said, handing Peter’s hoodie and bag over when you finished. He smiled in thanks. 

“I think I’m gonna need a new one,” he chuckled, displaying the blood and holes in his hoodie. You agreed and stood, helping Peter to his feet. You and Bucky locked eyes and you gave him the slightest nod as a tense silence built up around you all. The silence drew on, all of you staring at each other, unsure of what to do. 

“Is no one going to talk about how Bucky only has one arm?” Sam voiced. 

“I was just about to say.” Clint chimed. 

“I’m so glad you brought it up.” Tony commented simultaneously.

As the group jumped into conversation about Bucky and what happened and how you and Peter found him, Harley found his way to Tony’s side and caught Peter’s gaze. Peter gave a small, shy smile and, when it was returned, his smile grew. He limped over to the much smaller boy. 

“Hi,” he greeted. “I’m Peter.” 

“Harley,” came Harley’s small voice. “I really like your shirt.” 

Glancing down at his own filthy shirt, Peter saw the familiar periodic table; torn, bloodied, and sweat stained. 

“Yeah? Thanks.” 

“I like science,” Harley said and Peter’s doe eyes lit up. 

“Me too!” he beamed. “I actually have a book in my bag on the fundamentals of physics, if you want to give it a read. It gets kind of complicated at some parts and even I can’t understand it, but it’s still interesting nonetheless. Do you want to read it?” 

“Sure,” Harley answered, smile growing. 

As Peter kneeled down, he suddenly heard a wish above his head and the echo of a gunshot bouncing through the empty city streets. When he looked up, Harley’s wide baby blue eyes locked with his own and blood trickled from a hole in the center of Harley’s forehead.

As if in slow motion, Harley fell forward, his head falling into Peter’s lap. The blood soaked into his jeans and he shivered, frozen and unable to move. He couldn’t even tell if his own heart was beating as (Name)’s screams met his ears. Her cries were dull background noise with the weight of Harley’s lifeless body in his lap. His eyes were glued to the blood collecting in the small boy’s curls.


	13. Monsters Under the Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I'm so sorry ?? that I took so long to write this ???? when I literally have no life ??? this is mediocre and probably confusing and I'm sorry but I tried my best so enjoy :) Also I did not get Squid to edit this or give me ideas and I did minimal editing myself because I wanted to get this up as quickly as possible so excuse any mistakes and plot holes lmao i tried guys and thats all that matters right? Right?

Dried blood, sweat, and filth covered him head to toe, but a vile sense of survivor’s guilt hollowed out his veins. He didn’t want to be touched. He couldn’t place his hands on his lap for that slight weight made bile rise in his throat. Although he didn’t have much to throw up, he’d already vomited enough that his throat burned and his breath smelt rancid.

Peter sat on the dirty floor, legs stretched out in front of him, with distant, unfocused eyes. To his left sat Bucky worried, scared, and tense. His only fist clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Not far from Bucky, stood Steve leaning up against the wall, his blue eyes, the brightest things in the room, bouncing from Bucky’s face to Tony’s and then to the floor.

Tony sat to the right of him with his knees drawn to his chest and his hand over his eyes. Sam sat in the far corner of the room with one arm propped up on his knee and a defeated anger in his dark eyes.

Clint, the most restless, paced the length of the room. The tap of his feet echoed as he walked and Peter’s eyes followed his feet back and forth, perhaps the only consistency keeping Peter tethered to reality.

The locked door across from Peter disappeared behind Clint’s frame for a second before reappearing again. The caged feeling that Clint obviously felt didn’t quite reach Peter. The worry in Bucky’s eyes didn’t reside in his. The anger and defeat that coursed through Sam’s veins didn’t heat his blood or furrow his brows. He didn’t feel much at all.  

The lack of feeling left him cold and empty. There was a void in his head that he couldn’t escape. A black hole filled with echoing gunshots, screams, dying baby blues, and the weight of a child’s corpse in his lap.  

Outside the locked door, footsteps were heard and Clint stopped to listen closely. Down the hall not far way, a door creaked open and Clint rushed to bang on the locked door.

“Hey! Leave them alone! I’ll kill you! Do you hear me, you assholes? You’re dead!” The frantic rage in his voice didn’t startle Peter as it should have and it certainly didn’t start a fire in him. The protectiveness that fueled Clint wasn’t in Peter anymore. He felt too broken to fight.

“Clint…” Steve murmured as Clint listened for more sound in the hallway. The footsteps faded away and Clint went back to pacing.

Peter’s eyes went back to following his feet as they crossed back and forth in front of him. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

A heavy sigh parted Tony’s lips as he removed his hand from his face. His eyes were red and puffy and the bags underneath them made him look like the dead. The grime and dried blood on his skin and clothes stained deeper than the surface. Peter watched him from the corner of his eye, but quickly glanced away when Tony looked at him. A new rush of guilt rattled Peter’s bones as Tony’s indecipherable gaze settled on him.

“Hey, kid,” Tony softly called. With hesitance, Peter turned to look at him. Exhaustion and despondency stared back at him and he suddenly had the urge to vomit again.

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but the locked door suddenly clicked and swung open revealing a tall, muscular man. Clint instantly threw a fist at the man’s face and the man’s head snapped back with the force. Clint cocked his arm back for another hit, but the man rebounded quickly and he pulled a crowbar from his belt. With one quick swing to his abdomen, Clint doubled over and the man took the opportunity to knock him over, kicking him repeatedly when he was down.

Blood splattered from Clint’s mouth as another kick landed on his stomach. Curling into a ball did little to protect him. He tried to get up again, but the man swung the crowbar across his back and the pain radiated through his bones like a forest fire. He coughed up blood again as he laid there, unable to defend himself or even keep trying.

Sam was shouting, internally debating on whether to fight the man or not. Tony covered his eyes again and Peter felt hot tears build in his throat as he couldn’t look away. Finally, Steve stepped into the man’s view with clenched fists. The man stopped beating Clint and laughed at Steve. He spit on Clint’s battered body before turning to Bucky, who was on his feet now with tense shoulders.

With a sickeningly pleased smirk, the man gripped Bucky’s shirt and hauled him out the door. As the door slammed shut and locked, Peter felt a hole open up in his chest as he finally teared his eyes away from Clint’s unconscious, bloody, and bruised body lying helpless on the floor.

.

.

.

Bucky’s heart pumped heated blood and adrenaline in his veins as the man dragged him down the dimly lit hallway. He passed two other doors in the short hall. The first he passed emanated cries and whimpers and he hoped neither (Name) nor Natasha were in that room. Behind the second door he passed was a gurgling sound and a soft scratching on the door. Bucky swallowed hard and thought he would much rather have (Name) and Nat in the first room.

Rounding the corner, Bucky was shoved down another hall that opened up into a broad room. On his left, there was a room with two jail cells. In one cell, (Name) sat on the floor resting her head on the bench that held Natasha. She was slumped forward, tired and weak, and completely disheveled. Her hands were bloodied and bruised. Fury bubbled at the finger-shaped bruises around her neck and her torn clothes. Nat’s skin was just as bruised and cut as (Name’s). Her dirty t-shirt was torn, revealing part of her black bra. Bucky briefly met her piercing gaze as he passed.

With a black eye and a busted lip, she still had an impish glimmer in her eye and a smirk on her face.   

He was shoved into the door on his right which held a table in the center and two chairs on either side of the table. Half of the left wall was a mirror, and as Bucky was forced to sit opposite of it he realized they were held in an old police station.

Almost as soon as he sat down, another man Bucky shamefully knew all too well entered the room. He was old, but faded blonde still colored his hair. The air of superiority that followed him showed when he waved the other man out of the room.

“You can go, Rollins,” he said. Rollins, the man that beat Clint, left silently and Bucky was left alone with the older man. His aged, blue eyes drilled into Bucky’s as he leaned back in his chair, tilting his chin up.  

“So, Bucky, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Bucky didn’t reply.

“It’s good to see you again.”

_“Barnes.”_

Bucky held his steady gaze.

“I suppose I have a lot to talk about and you have a lot to listen to.”

_“Barnes, we gotta talk.”_

At the lack of a response, the older man narrowed his eyes a fraction and smiled thinly. With a laugh he leaned on the table between them.

“You killed my men, Bucky, but more importantly you betrayed me,” he said. “I gave you an explicit order and you didn’t carry through.”

_“I know what you’ve been up to.”_

Bucky’s eyes fell to the table. Pierce tsked.

“All you had to do was kill him. Kill him and bring me my share. That’s all.”

“He was my friend,” Bucky murmured.

_“We can fight this.”_

“Was he? I thought your only friend was the blonde one?” Pierce grinned and Bucky looked away.

 _“You’re a part of this_ _dysfunctional family, too,_ _Bucky. Let’s go home. We can talk to Tony and Steve about this.”_

Bucky wanted to fight, to lean across the table and land a mean right hook on the guy, but he knew that would only make matters worse. He opened his mouth to maybe defend himself, maybe snap back, but Peter flashed in his mind suddenly and his mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth.

“Oh, by the way. You saw your girls out there all roughed up, right? Some of the boys wanted a go at them. That sweet looking one--the one with the pretty eyes? She put up quite a fight, but the redhead took most of the heat for her. Noble. And hot, in a girl-on-girl sort of way,” Pierce grinned, all teeth. Bucky glared. 

_“We can get out of this.”_

“I killed him. Like you asked,” Bucky found himself saying. “I couldn’t bring you your share. It wasn’t the right time.”

“And my men?”

“They attacked me first. Thought I was holding out--”

“And you were,”  Pierce interrupted.

“When we fought, it attracted a herd. Your men were lost to rotters,” Bucky explained.

_“Bucky!”_

“Is that how you lost your arm?” Pierce asked, and Bucky nodded. The older man fell silent, staring at Bucky blankly. He felt increasingly unnerved with each passing second that he held Pierce’s gaze. The memories of the day he lost his arm still tugged at the fringes of his mind, making his left shoulder burn uncomfortably.

Pierce suddenly laughed, startling Bucky. “So, you killed the suspicious one like I asked, but you also killed my men _and_ you still didn’t bring me my share. So listen, Bucky--” he pulled a gun nonchalantly from inside his jacket and placed it on the table-- “You’re gonna have to pay the price.”

_“Bucky, run!”_

Bucky glanced at the gun before looking back at Pierce, who continued.

“And your group is, too, unfortunately for you and them. And you know what that means, right?” Pierce leaned forward with a smirk. “They’re gonna have to find out. I’m gonna have to tell them just whose bed you’ve really been sleeping in.”

His smirk grew into a smile and it made Bucky’s stomach knot uncomfortably. He leaned as far back in his seat as he could to put as much distance between him and Pierce.

“So I’m going to kill all of you. Make a show out of it, ya know. I’ll make the big reveal and--” he picked up the gun and aimed at Bucky’s head “bam! I think I’ll do it one at a time, too. What do you say we start with the lovely ladies?”

_“I’m so sorry.”_

.

.

.

You sighed softly as you slowly woke up. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but recent events pulled you into unconsciousness before you had a chance to fight it. Opening your drowsy eyes was harder than you expected but when you did you felt a pain knot in your neck.

“Wakey, wakey,” came a playful yet raspy voice. You lifted your head from the bench, rubbing the kink in your neck, and looked at Nat’s bruised face. Guilt instantly sunk its icy teeth into your gut.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

“For what? Falling asleep?” Her voice was low, but it held a forced lightness.

“I didn’t fight hard enough--”

“Yes, you did,” she cut you off. “I just happen to have more experience with fighting off big, scary men than I wish I really had to. Besides, Barnes has gotten attached to you. He’d probably do some really stupid shit that would get himself killed to avenge you,” she paused, waiting for you to look at her. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

It was the most sentimental and open thing you ever heard her say, and this moment you shared was entirely new. A sisterhood that had somehow formed between you in the last few days or maybe even hours was so welcomed in your heart you almost cried. Since Harley’s untimely and unwarranted death only yesterday, you’ve been plagued with nothing but sorrow, guilt, and, worst of all, relief; relief it wasn't Peter.

“They have Bucky.” She spoke carefully. You took a deep breath in and held it, trying to slow your heart that pounded guilt and worry through you. Your veins constricted against the cold numbness that enveloped you and you blinked hard. Images of Bucky dying, slowly and torturously, made your head spin and bile burn at the back of your throat.

“Are you okay,” you asked quietly, trying to get your mind on something else. Her brows creased minutely at your question, but she nodded.

“Are you okay?” she repeated back with watchful eyes. You nodded and you absentmindedly toyed with the compass around your neck. In place of a dying Bucky, you felt the nightmare of Peter’s hand falling from yours, cold from lack of blood flow, his heart beat dying out in your ears. You shook your head vigorously.

“What’s gonna happen to us, Nat?”

Your voice was small, desperate, and utterly terrified. Natasha, in the near-three weeks she’s known you, never heard you sound so...childlike, like you were a little girl asking your mother about the monsters under your bed. It was in the smallness of your voice and the fear that cracked it that the weight of the world you all lived in crashed around her with a mind numbing quake that made her throat close up.

She couldn’t bring herself to lie--not that she could if she wanted to.

“I don’t know,” she rasped, trying to keep her voice level. Without thinking, her hand found its way into yours and neither of you could fight it as fear settled in your stomachs and made your hearts stutter.  


End file.
